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“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


“THE 


RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


A ROMANCE  OF  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICS 


By  justin  McCarthy,  m.  p. 

AND 

MRS.  CAMPBELL-PRAED 


NEW  YORK 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
1889 

BOSTON  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 
CHESTNUT  HILL,  MASS, 


PR 
ft  S' 


A uthorized  Edition. 


The  Authors  of  this  book  have  made  their  experiment  in 
what  they  believe  to  be  a genuine  way.  “ The  Eight 
Honourable  ” is  in  the  strictest  sense  the  work  of  a man  and 
a woman.  Every  character,  incident,  scene,  and  page  is 
joint  work,  and  was  thought  out  and  written  out  in  com- 
bination. Whatever  the  book  is,  it  is  not  patchwork. 

The  Authors  only  wish  to  add  that  the  politics  and  the 
personages  of  the  story  are  purely  fanciful.  Their  aim  was 
to  surround  figures  that  do  not  exist  and  political  parties 
hitherto  unformed  with  conditions  of  reality  which  might 
make  them  seem  as  if  they  too  were  real. 


CONTENTS 


jHAprsra 

I.  The  Little  Queen  ...  ...  ... 

II.  Outlined  against  the  Grey  Sky 

III.  Lady  Betty  Morse 

IV.  “After  Long  Years1’  ... 

Y.  Husband  and  Wife  • *»  **•  •••  • 

YI.  Wife  and  Husband 

VII.  Red  Cap  and  White  Cockade 

VIII.  Koorali  and  her  Reeds 

IX.  “What  do  you  call  London  Society?” 

X.  “And  so— Hallo!” 

XI.  The  Family  Dinner 

XII.  The  “Languorous  Tropic  Flower” 

XIII.  The  Terrace  ...  ...  ...  ... 

XIY.  “Shall  I go  to  see  her?” 

XY.  Kenway  acts  the  Hero 

XYI.  “Coo-ee!”  ...  ...  ...  ...  ,5, 

XVII.  “One  Touch  lights  up  two  Lamps” 

XVIII.  The  Priory-on-the-Water 
XIX.  “Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  tco  late” 
XX.  Mr.  Dobito  admonishes  Nations 
XXL  “And  may  this  World  go  well  with  you” 

XXII.  The  Last  Appeal  ...  ...  ...  ... 

XXIII.  “ Thou  SHALT  RENOUNCE  ” ... 

XXIY.  “Pursuing  a Phantom” 

XXV.  Pink  Snow 

XXVI.  The  Progressive  Club...  ...  ...  ... 


PAGB 

1 

9 

18 

27 

32 

39 

49 

63 

70 

78 

87 

100 

108 

316 

122 

129 

140 

148 

158 

162 

166 

174 

180 

190 

198 

203 


CONTENTS \ 


mi 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXVII. 

“But  my  Children?”  ... 

»«» 

216 

XXVIII. 

The  Winter  Session 

227 

XXIX. 

“The  Inseparable  Sigh  for  her” 

• •• 

238 

. XXX. 

Masterson  at  Home 

242 

XXXI. 

“The  First  Day  of  Liberty”  ... 

• •l 

251 

XXXII. 

“One  who  can  prove” 

263 

XXXIII. 

“A  Scene  in  the  House” 

• •• 

266 

XXXIV. 

Crichton’s  Revenge 

279 

XXXV. 

“No  Way  but  this!”  ...  ...  ... 

• •• 

286 

XXXVI. 

Koorali’s  Letter  ...  ... 

295 

xxxvn. 

“I  will  order  my  Heart  to  bear  it”  ... 

IM 

304 

XXXVIII. 

Zen  comes  ...  ...  ...  ...  ... 

309 

XXXIX. 

In  the  Australian  Sunset  ...  ... 

IU 

318 

THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  LITTLE  QUEEN. 

A grey  morning  off  the  coast  of  Australia;  a wide  grey  upheaving 
sea;  a grey  sky  which  melted  into  the  waves;  clouds,  and  foamy 
splashes  blending  together  on  the  horizon  line,  except  where  the  dawn 
was  breaking.  There,  in  the  east,  a faint  pink  glow,  which  seemed  to 
widen  the  vast  lonely  Pacific  and  to  make  it  even  wider,  vaster,  and 
more  desolate. 

Westward  lay  the  grey  shore,  lonely  and  desolate  too,  and  hazy 
with  mist;  only  a promontory  that  jutted  out  into  the  sea  almost  in 
a line  with  the  rising  sun,  showing  clearly — a bold  bleak  headland, 
below  it  long  stretches  of  sand  dotted  with  bristling  black  rocks,  and 
on  the  highest  point,  a lighthouse,  a flagstaff,  two  or  three  rough 
cottages,  and  clusters  of  wind-beaten  bread-fruit  trees. 

A steamer  bound  southward  had  slackened  speed.  The  Captain  was 
standing  on  deck  with  his  telescope  pointed  towards  the  Cape ; and 
three  or  four  men  near  him  were  watching  through  their  glasses  the 
launching  of  a pilot-boat  which  had  been  drawn  up  on  the  sand  below 
the  cliffs.  One  of  these  cried  out  with  eager  interest — 

“ There’s  a woman  being  put  off.  They  are  carrying  her  on  board 
the  boat.” 

“No,  it’s  a child,”  said  another  of  the  passengers  ; “a  little  girl.” 

“ Sure,  it’s  Koorali,”  exclaimed  a third. 

The  speaker  was  the  Attorney-General  of  the  colony — South  Britain 
— and  was  usually  known  as  Judge  O’Beirne.  He  was  old;  he  was 
' coarse  ; his  face  was  reddened  by  overmuch  whiskey,  perhaps  ; but  there 
was  a note  of  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  he  added,  half  to  himself, 
“ Isn’t  it  me  own  little  Queen  Koorali  coming  out  to  see  the  world ! ” 
Just  as  the  boat  put  off  from  shore  and  became  a speck  upon  the 
sea,  a man  stepped  up  from  below  and  advanced  towards  the  group  on 
deck.  He  asked  two  questions  rapidly,  yet  with  a sort  of  deliberation 
and  a pause  between  the  two. 

“What  are  we  stopping  for?  Who  is  Koorali?” 

His  keen  glance  shot  from  the  men  before  him  to  the  Cape — to  the 


2 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


boat.  There  was  an  air  of  something  like  command  in  his  walk,  in 
his  look,  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  the  way  in  which  he  waited  for  an 
answer.  This  man  was  Mr.  Sandham  Morse.  He  was  an  Englishman. 
He  was  about  thirty-five  years  of  age,  tall,  strongly  built,  and  with  a 
curiously  Napoleonic  outline  of  face.  He  had  even  that  sallow,  olive 
complexion  which  we  see  in  the  portraits  of  the  Bonaparte  family,  and 
which,  though  common  enough  in  the  climate  from  which  the  Napo- 
leons came,  is  rare  indeed  among  Englishmen.  His  features,  being 
Napoleonic,  were  naturally  statuesque.  His  lips,  firmly  set  together, 
had  an  expression  of  power  in  them  which  still  further  carried  out 
the  Napoleonic  likeness.  When  the  eyelids  were  lowered,  the  face 
had  a look  of  gravity  or  of  melancholy  which  sometimes  even  darkened 
for  a moment  into  a semblance  of  sullenness ; but  when  the  deep  grey 
soft  and  bright  eyes  were  seen,  then  the  look  changed  into  something 
peculiarly  warm,  winning,  and,  if  the  word  might  be  used,  welcoming. 

Sandham  Morse  had  been  Premier  of  South  Britain.  A few  months 
ago  he  had  resigned  the  leadership  of  the  House,  and  he  was  now  on 
his  way  home  to  England. 

South  Britain  was  aggrieved  at  his  desertion.  It  was,  however, 
generally  understood  that  Sandham  Morse  aimed  at  higher  political 
distinction  than  can  be  achieved  in  a crude  Australian  colony.  His 
career  so  far,  considering  his  limited  opportunities,  had  been  decidedly 
brilliant,  if  somewhat  eccentric.  He  was  of  good  English  family,  an 
only  son,  left  quite  alone  in  the  world,  with  a small  independent 
fortune.  He  had  a passion  for  seeing  the  world  and  mixing  in  the 
affairs  of  men.  When  the  American  civil  war  was  going  on  and 
Englishmen  of  the  better  class,  as  it  is  oddly  called,  were  enthusiastic 
for  the  South,  Morse,  then  not  quite  of  age  and  fresh  from  the  univer- 
sity, went  out  and  became  a volunteer  in  the  service  of  the  North- 
He  sought  service  not  under  some  great  commander,  and  in  some 
distinguished  regiment,  but  with  Wentworth  Higginson  in  his  experi- 
mental battalion  of  negroes ; and  he  did  well  there.  When  the  war 
was  over,  he  threw  himself  into  American  politics  so  eagerly  that 
every  one  thought  he  was  going  to  settle  in  the  States.  He  became 
the  friend  of  Charles  Sumner,  and  Wendell  Phillips,  and  Horace 
Greeley.  He  made  many  a speech  in  Cooper  Institute,  New  York, 
and  in  Fancuil  Hall,  Boston.  After  having  studied  American  affairs 
enough  to  satisfy  his  inclination,  he  set  off  for  China  and  Japan  and 
returned  to  England.  He  did  not  remain  at  home  long ; for  he  began 
to  be  anxious  to  learn  something  about  our  colonial  systems,  and  an 
opportunity  came  in  his  way.  A friend  of  his  dead  father  was 
appointed  Governor  of  South  Britain,  and  Morse  went  out  in  the 
new  Governor’s  train.  He  entered  the  colonial  Parliament,  speedily 
gained  a reputation  for  eloquence  and  statesmanship,  led,  curiously 
enough,  the  democratic  party,  and  held  office  for  several  years.  He 
entertained  pronounced  political  opinions,  and  had  strong  secret 
ambitions.  Perhaps  only  he  himself  knew  what  these  were  and  why 
the  Australian  stage  did  not  content  him  any  more  than  the  American 


3 


THE  LITTLE  QUEEN. 

had  done.  His  determination  to  quit  Australia  had  been  suddenly 
announced.  He  had  taken  no  one  into  his  confidence.  It  was  said  that 
he  had  come  into  a fortune.  It  was  rumoured  that  a certain  English 
lady  of  rank  was  answerable  in  the  first  instance  for  his  exile,  and  in 
the  second  for  his  return.  It  was  whispered  that  he  had  strange, 
almost  revolutionary,  views  about  English  government  and  English 
social  systems,  and  that  he  meant  to  fight  for  a cause.  Anyhow, 
while  professing  the  deepest  interest  in  the  great  Australian  questions, 
Morse  clearly  gave  out  that  his  farewell  would  be  final.  The  colonists 
foretold  great  success  for  him  in  England,  “ He’ll  get  on,”  they  said ; 
“ like  Bob  Lowe — like  Childers.” 

The  Captain  putting  down  his  telescope,  replied  to  the  first  clause  of 
Morse’s  inquiry. 

“ What  are  we  stopping  for,  Mr.  Morse  ? Why,  they’ve  signalled 
us  from  the  Cape.  Middlemist’s  run  lies  back  there,  and  some  of  his 
people  are  wanting  to  be  put  off.  They  always  hail  a steamer  from 
the  Cape.  It’s  shorter  than  travelling  round  to  the  township.” 

Morse’s  dark  face  lighted.  “ Middlemist ! ” he  said.  “ The 
Premier?” 

“ The  same  that  is  wearing  your  cast-off  shoes,”  put  in  Judge 
O’Bei.  ne ; “ and  my  Little  Queen  is  his  daughter.” 

Mom  took  up  the  telescope  and  surveyed  the  Cape,  the  flagstaff, 
the  lighthouse,  finally  the  boat,  which  was  coming  close  to  the 
steamer,  and  in  the  stern  of  which  a rough-bearded  squatter  and  a 
very  slender  very  young  girl  were  seated.  Four  men  in  pilots’  caps 
rowed  the  boat,  and  the  bow  was  heaped  up  with  saddle-bags  and 
curious-looking  parcels  of  luggage.  Morse  felt  interested.  Middlemist 
was  head  of  the  squatting  party  and  of  the  Ministry  which  had  suc- 
ceeded his  own.  He  had  heard  that  his  opponent  owned  a station  on 
the  coast,  but  had  never  known  its  exact  whereabouts.  Seaboard 
stations  are  not  considered  worth  talking  about  in  Australia,  and 
Middlemist  lived  chiefly  in  town,  and  depended  rather  upon  what  his 
grateful  country  bestowed  upon  him  than  upon  his  private  resources. 
He  was  a big,  burly,  self-made  man ; not  the  kind  of  person  whose 
daughter  would  be  called  “ the  Little  Queen,”  or,  indeed,  who  would 
be  likely  to  have  a daughter  who  could  be  so  styled,  except  in 
derision,  and  there  was  no  derisive  tone  in  O’Beirne’s  voice.  The 
whole  connection  of  ideas  seemed  incongruous  to  Morse,  and  the  very 
incongruity  interested  him. 

“ I didn’t  know  Middlemist  had  a daughter.  And  what  makes  you 
call  her  ‘ the  Little  Queen  ’ V ” 

Judge  O’Beirne  laughed — his  mellow  county  Kerry  laugh.  “ Faith, 
I can’t  tell  you.  It’s  just  a nickname  she  has  come  by  from  the  half- 
dozen  or  so  of  us  that  have  stopped  at  Muttabarra  and  watched  her 
growing  up.  I think  it  is  because  of  a way  the  child  has  of  looking  you 
straight  in  the  face  with  her  big  eyes,  and  of  seeming  to  expect  that 
the  world  is  to  be  just  as  she  likes  it,  so  that  there  isn’t  a boy  that 
’ud  have  the  heart  to  contradict  her.  Isn’t  that  the  way,  Captain  ? ” 


\ 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


“I  can’t  answer  you  there,  Judge,”  said  the  Captain,  “for  I have 
never  sighted  the  young  lady  till  this  morning,  and  she  is  not  close 
enough  yet  for  me  to  make  out  what  her  eyes  are  like.” 

Judge  O’Beirne  laughed  again,  but  this  time  rather  in  a perfunctory 
way,  like  one  who  is  reflecting.  “ Yes,  she  has  got  a way  with  her — 
that’s  it.  And  I’d  bet  my  silver-topped  waddy  that  not  a soul  has 
ever  spoken  a cross  word  to  her  in  her  life.  Middlemist  has  always 
Kept  her  at  Muttabarra,  and  he  has  had  the  best  governesses  for  her 
that  could  be  got  in  Sydney — South  Britain  articles  wouldn’t  do  for 
her ; and  gave  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Campbell — it’s  Jack  Campbell,  Middle- 
mist’s  brother-in-law,  that  is  superintendent  at  Muttabarra — he  gave 
Mrs.  Campbell  strict  orders  that  she  wasn’t  to  mix  up  with  the  station 
hands  or  the  township  people.  There’s  something  queer  about  the 
notion,”  continued  the  Judge  after  a short  pause,  “for  Middlemist 
never  branded  more  than  two  hundred  calves  in  the  year,  and  we  all 
know  that  doesn’t  run  to  champagne  and  swell  governesses ; and  his 
son  in  the  Lands’  Office  is  about  as  hulking  a fellow  as  you  could  see 
out  of  the  Never-Never  country.” 

“ What  is  the  secret  of  it,  then  ? ” asked  Morse,  stepping  back  from 
the  bulwarks,  and  leaning  with  arms  folded  against  the  hatchway. 

“Well,  you  know  Middlemist  began  as  a sheep-shearer,  and  he 
married  Poll  Watkins,  who  was  barmaid  at  the  Royal  when  I first  came 
to  the  colony,”  said  the  Judge.  “But  Poll  went  off  the  hooks,  and 
Middlemist  went  in  for  tin-mining  and  made  a fortune,  and  then  got 
smashed  up.  Before  his  smash  came,  though,  he  married  a little 
English  governess,  who  was  a real  lady  if  ever  there  was  one.  She 
died  too,  and  Middlemist  started  on  politics  and  gave  Jack  Campbell, 
her  brother,  a billet  to  superintend  Muttabarra.  So  Campbell’s  wife 
looked  after  Koorali;  and  the  Little  Queen  has  had  her  Sydney 
governesses,  and  has  learned  French  and  the  piano,  and  has  had  a horse 
kept  stabled  for  her  summer  and  winter,  and  never  a bad  woid  spoken 
in  her  presence.  And  now  she  is  seventeen,  and  Middlemist  has  come 
into  his  kingdom  and  is  at  the  head  of  the  colony,  and  likely  to  stop 
there  till  you  come  back  again,  Morse.  So  our  little  queen  is  coming 
out  of  her  enchanted  forest  into  the  world,  to  dance  at  the  Governor’s 
balls,  and  attend  the  opening  of  Parliament,  and  be  shown  to  her  place, 
just  below  the  da'is,  by  the  Usher  of  the  Black  Rod,  and  learn  to  flirt, 
and  be  made  love  to,  and  get  married,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.” 

There  was  something  quaint  and  pathetic  in  the  picture. 

“Poor  Little  Queen!”  Morse  murmured  involuntarily. 

“I  don’t  know  why  you  should  say  that,”  exclaimed  the  Judge. 
“ Every  one  will  make  a fuss  about  her.  She  will  be  a pet  among  us ; 
a sort  of  child  of  the  Executive — a daughter  of  the  regiment.  There 
isn’t  another  grown-up  daughter  in  the  Ministry ; and  I’ve  already  got 
my  eye  on  a husband  for  her.” 

“ Who  is  he  ? ” asked  Morse  carelessly. 

“I’ll  give  a guess,”  cried  an  outsider,  who  had  been  listening  atten- 
tive! y to  the  conversation.  “Crichton  Ken  way,  of  course.  The 


THE  LITTLE  QUEEN, . 5 

Admirable  Crichton ! Postmaster-General ; chief  of  red-tapists ! Good- 
looking  chap!  An  immaculate  young  maul  Don’t  you  think  so, 
Morse  ? ” 

“No,”  returned  Morse  shortly.  “I  shouldn’t  call  him  an  immacu- 
late young  man.” 

As  if  unwilling  to  carry  on  the  discussion,  he  moved  to  the  other 
side  of  the  deck,  where  he  stood  silently  watching  the  rising  sun,  till 
the  regular  dip  of  oars  and  sound  of  voices  on  the  water  told  him  that 
the  pilot-boat  was  approaching.  Even  then  he  held  back  from  the 
excited  group  which  gathered  at  the  bulwarks,  looking  down  as  the 
companion-ladder  was  lowered ; and  he  heard  with  no  show  of  curiosity 
the  interchange  of  greetings,  the  Judge’s  rough  kindly  voice,  and  the 
clear  girlish  tones  that  floated  up  in  reply  from  below. 

“Well,  my  Little  Queen,  and  it  is  you  that  are  dropping  down  upon 
ns  in  the  middle  of  the  sea ! A bareheaded  waif,  indeed ! A queen 
without  a crown,  faith ! ” 

“ Yes ; I’ve  lost  my  hat,  Judge.  Barril  knocked  it  off  with  his  oar, 
and  we  couldn’t  stop  to  pick  it  up.  Bat  that’s  no  matter,  is  it?  I’ll 
ask  the  stewardess  to  lend  me  one.  And — oh,  do  tell  me — Parliament 
hasn’t  met  yet?  Shall  I be  in  time  ? We  have  been  waiting  at  the 
pilot  station  four  days  for  a steamer  to  go  by.” 

“ Oh,  you’re  in  time,  Queen ; in  time  to  mount  your  throne,  in  time 
to  break  hearts,  in  time  lor  everything.” 

“ Passengers  first,  then  luggage,”  called  out  the  Captain,  as  the  pilots 
began  to  pitch  the  saddlebags  on  deck.  “Are  }rou  coming  down  with  us, 
Mr.  Campbell  ? ” he  asked  the  unkempt-looking  squatter  in  a cabbage- 
tree  hat,  who  appeared  at  the  gangway  and  saluted  the  Judge. 

“No,  Captain.  I don’t  take  my  spree  in  town  till  the  session  is 
over.  I shall  put  Miss  Middlemist  in  your  charge,  and  in  yours, 
Judge.  You  don’t  go  up  the  river  to  the  company’s  wharf,  do  you, 
Captain  ? ” 

“ I’m  bound  straight  for  Sydney,  Mr.  Campbell,  to  catch  the  English 
mail.” 

“ Then  I’ll  telegraph  to  the  chief  to  arrange  about  picking  up  Miss 
Middlemist  in  the  Bay,”  said  the  squatter. 

“No  need  for  that,  Mr.  Campbell.  Here’s  our  ex-premier  aboard — 
on  his  way  home,  more’s  the  pity, — and  all  the  Ministers  will  be 
coming  down  in  the  Government  steam  tug  as  far  as  the  river  bar  to 
see  him  off  and  wish  him  good  luck.” 

Morse  came  forward  at  this  reference  to  himself,  and  a kind  of  greet- 
ing passed  between  him  and  the  new-comer. 

“The  new  king  attending  the  funeral  of  his  predecessor.  That’s 
about  it,  I suppose,”  he  said,  with  a smile  wThich,  while  it  lasted,  made 
his  face  so  winning.  But  his  remark  was  hardly  noticed,  and  that  in 
itself  was  a curious  experience  to  Sandham  Morse.  Everybody  was 
occupied  with  the  boat,  where  Koorali,  with  one  foot  on  the  com- 
panion-ladder, was  saying  her  farewells  to  the  pilots.  And  in  her 
manner  there  was  a certain  gracious  ease  and  friendly  dignity  which 


6 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE, 


amused  Morse  as  lie  listened.  He  could  almost  fancy  that  she  held 
out  her  little  hand  to  he  kissed  respectfully  by  her  vassals. 

Her  uncle,  swinging  himself  down,  called  out,  “ Come,  Koorkli,  the 
Captain  wants  to  get  up  steam  again.”  And  the  Captain  said  apolo- 
getically, “ 1 have  got  to  think  of  the  tide,  and  of  crossing  the  Mary 
River  bar,  miss,  or  I wouldn’t  hurry  you.” 

“ Good-bye,  Barril,”  said  the  girl’s  sweet  clear  voice.  “ Good-bye, 
Dick  and  Nealy.  Good-bye,  all  of  you.  And  I’ll  send  you  a telegram 
every  now  and  then,  Barril,  just  to  tell  you  how  I like  everything. 
And  when  I have  got  the  pearl  you  gave  me  set,  I’ll  wear  it  always. 
And  good-bye,  good-bye.” 

A moment  more,  and  she  stood  upon  the  little  platform  by  the 
steamer's  side,  supporting  herself  with  one  hand  upon  the  rope  railing, 
as  the  vessel  made  a movement — a childlike  figure  in  a soft,  clinging 
woollen  frock  of  grey,  which  the  wind  blew  close  to  her  form,  bare- 
headed, clearly  outlined  against  the  grey  sky  and  the  grey  sea,  and 
with  the  tender  light  of  the  dawning  sun  shining  full  upon  her  face. 

It  was  thus  that  Morse  first  saw  her ; and  it  was  this  picture  of  her 
which  for  long  afterwards  came  to  him  unconsciously  whenever  his 
mind  dwelt  on  things  lovely  and  sweet  and  unstained.  He  thought 
of  her  as  of  something  belonging  to  the  day-dawn,  as  symbolic  of  the 
hope,  the  poetry,  the  ideal  joy  which  overhangs  but  never  quite 
touches  actual  life ; and  perhaps  it  was  because  of  this  vague  sugges- 
tion of  unfulfilled  promise  and  of  yearning  not  to  be  realized,  that  the 
picture  always  brought  with  it  a feeling  of  exquisite  sadness. 

Koorali  was  a slender,  wild-falcon  creature,  at  once  shy  and  queenly, 
with  a sweet,  small,  pale  face,  and  red,  quiver-shaped,  sensitive  lips; 
with  a small,  erectly-set  head,  and  a broad  brow  shadowed  by  dark 
brown  hair  that  did  not  lie  heavy,  but  grew  thick  and  soft  and  close, 
and  with  dark  deep  eyes,  dreamy  yet  fearless,  which  gazed  straight 
afar,  as  it  were,  beyond  sea  and  sky,  and  had  a light  in  them  like  the 
light  of  dawn. 

fJ  he  girl  stepped  on  deck,  taking  the  Captain’s  outstretched  hand 
for  a moment,  then  greeting  Judge  O’Beirne,  and  sending  swift,  shy, 
searching  glances  towards  the  men  whom  she  did  not  know.  Her 
eyes  met  those  of  Morse.  Instinctively,  he  raised  his  hat  and  made 
her  a salutation.  Koorali  returned  it  with  a gesture  full  of  unstudied 
grace,  and  turning  impulsively  to  the  Judge,  seemed  about  to  ask  a 
question.  But  the  last  saddlebag  had  been  flung  on  deck,  and  there 
was  a little  commotion  in  the  boat  as  the  pilots  dipped  their  oars.  She 
hung  over  the  bulwarks  to  say  some  parting  words  to  her  uncle ; the 
companion-ladder  was  raised  ; the  screw  revolved ; very  soon  the  boat 
had  again  become  a black  speck  upon  the  water,  and  the  steamer  was 
speeding  southward. 

The  sun  was  now  well  above  the  horizon,  and  the  shore’s  misty  out- 
lines were  growing  into  distinctness.  A keen  breeze  swept  over  the 
waves  and  tossed  up  foam.  The  air  was  fresh  and  exhilarating. 
Never  had  fuller  promise  been  given  of  a glorious  day.  And,  indeed, 


THE  LITTLE  QUEEN . 7 

nothing  more  beautiful  in  its  way  could  be  imagined  than  the  wild, 
strange  scene — the  lonely  coast,  with  its  weird-looking  clumps  of 
bread-fruit  trees,  its  sandy  bays,  its  rocky  points,  and  tiers  of  blue- 
green  gum  foliage  stretching  back  to  a distant  range  of  mountains, 
the  wide  expanse  of  ocean,  rose-flushed,  with  that  white  line  afar  to  the 
east,  showing  where  the  Great  Barrier  Beef  keeps  guard  against  the 
Pacific. 

Koorali  seated  herself  upon  a bench,  the  Judge  beside  her;  and  now 
she  asked  the  question  which  had  been  on  her  lips  a little  while 
before. 

“ Who  is  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  deck  ? lie  looks  like  the 
pictures  of  Napoleon  as  he  stands  with  his  arms  folded.  Is  it  Mr, 
Morse  ? ” 

“What  made  you  guess  right,  Koorhli?  Yes,  it’s  Morse.” 

“ I have  heard  you  describe  him,”  answered  the  girl.  “ You  never 
said,  though,  that  he  was  like  Napoleon.  He  puts  me  in  mind  of  a 
picture  in  my  French  history  at  home,  where  Napoleon  is  standing 
thinking — just  so.  He  is  thinking  of  his  future,  perhaps;  of  his 
battles,  of  his  victories,  of  France,  and  of  the  people  he  loved  so  well ; 
and  I think  he  has  a foreboding,  too,  of  defeat  and  exile  and  loneliness, 
for  his  eyes  are  sad.  Mr.  Morse  is  like  that,  somehow.” 

Koorali’s  tone  had  in  it  a touch  of  enthusiasm.  The  Judge  laughed 
more  softly  than  was  usual  with  him. 

“ Faith,  then,  there  is  something  of  the  Napoleon  about  Sandham 
Morse.  He  makes  people  believe  in  him.  The  sort  of  man,  with  his 
queer  democratic  notions,  that  would  suit  our  navvies  and  free  selectors 
for  a republican  president,  if  we  were  come  to  that  in  Australia.” 

“Oh,  I wish  we  could,”  said  Koorali.  “I  should  like  Australia  to 
be  a republic.  I should  like  my  country  to  be  free — really  free ! ” 

“ There’s  a traitor  for  you!  ” exclaimed  the  Judge.  “ Listen  to  her, 
just!  And  her  father  a constitutional  minister!  Come  over  here, 
Morse.  You  should  be  introduced  all  in  proper  form  to  Middlemist’s 
daughter — a red  republican,  like  yourself.”  # 

Morse,  who  had  indeed  heard  part  of  the  conversation,  came  forward, 
and  the  introduction  was  made.  Koorali  gave  him  her  hand.  !She 
did  not  think  him  so  like  a tragic  hero  now  when  he  smiled.  But  to 
him,  in  spite  of  her  youth,  her  brightness  and  almost  childish  air  of 
inconsequence,  she  still  brought  a suggestion  of  pathos  as  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  his  without  speaking.  The  joke  about  red  republicanism 
dropped,  and  none  of  the  usual  commonplaces  occurred  to  him,  so  he 
was  silent.  The  Judge  went  on — 

“ And  how  about  the  Motherland — the  Old  Country,  and  the  Queen 
you  rebel  ? And  the  divine  right  of  kings,  and  all  the  rest  of  it?” 
Koorali  gave  her  bare  head  a serious  little  shake. 

“We  are  new.  They  are  old,”  she  said. 

“And  you  don’t  care  about  what  is  old?”  asked  Morse,  with  a tone 
of  regret. 

“Care!”  Koor&li’s  eyes  gave  out  a soft  gleam.  “Oh  yes.  It’s 


8 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


everything.  It’s  history,  poetry,  tradition.  But  we  are  going  to 
make  all  that.  The  people  always  make  it.  We  will  choose  our  own 
Napoleon.” 

She  coloured  a little,  remembering  the  comparison  she  had  drawn. 
The  Judge  laughed. 

“You  can’t  choose  this  one.  He’s  a deserter.  He  won’t  fight 
under  the  flag  of  his  adopted  country.  The  New  World  doesn’t  suit 
him.  He  has  tried  America.  He  has  had  a go  at  Australia,  and  now 
he  is  turning  back  after  all  to  his  own  old  crumbling  traditions.” 

A clatter  in  the  saloon  caught  the  Judge’s  attention.  He  peered 
down  the  skylight.  The  steward  was  serving  out  coffee. 

“ You  thief  of  the  world ! ” cried  the  Judge,  addressing  one  of  the 
juniors  who  had  looked  up  from  the  table  with  something  brandished 
in  his  hand.  “ Let  go  my  eggs,  will  you  ? and  don’t  interfere  with  my 
own  brew.  I take  my  coffee  with  a stick  in  it,”  added  he,  turning  to 
Koorali,  “ that’s  the  yolk  of  an  egg  and  the  least  drop  of  whisky.  And 
if  they  can  put  me  off  with  a stale  egg  they  just  will,  the  young  devils. 
My  Little  Queen,  now — and  ye  don’t  deserve  to  be  called  it — come  and 
try  my  coffee  and  my  stick” 

But  Koorali  declined,  and  so  also  did  Morse.  Almost  everybody 
else  went  down  below.  The  cabin  was  filled  with  talk  and  laughter. 
Only  those  two  remained  on  deck. 

They  talked  of  the  scenery,  of  the  chances  of  smooth  weather — 
common]  daces. 

“ 1 am  goimr  to  find  you  a more  comfortable  seat,”  said  Morse,  after 
a while.  u And  then  I shall  order  some  coffee  up  here.” 

He  led  the  wray  towards  the  stern  of*the  vessel  where,  near  the 
helm,  there  was  ^little  space  ^covered  over  with  a rou?h  awning  and 
built  in  on  one  side  with  huge  coils  of  rope.  He  drew  forward  a chair 
for  her,  and  then  left  her  for  a few  minutes.  When  he  came  back  he 
was  followed  by  a steward  carrying  coffee  and  rolls. 

She  was  gazing  'dreamily  at  the  vanishing  lighthouse,  and  started 
when  he  spoke  to  her. 

“ Oh,  thank  you.”  She  drank  some  coffee,  but  presently  put  down 
the  cup  and  did  not  touch  the  roll. 

“ Aren’t  you  hungry  ? ” asked  Morse.  “ You  must  have  got  up  very 
early.  Or  did  the  pilots  give  you  breakfast  before  they  brought  you 
on  board  ? ” 

“I  was  awake  at  four,”  she  answered.  “Barril,  the  head  pilot, 
knocked  at  my  door  to  tell  me  that  there  was  a steamer  off  the  Cape. 
He  got  breakfast  ready,  and  we  all  had  it  together.  It  was  quite  a sad 
meal.” 

“ The  pilots  were  sorry  to  lose  you,  I suppose  ? ” 

“ Yes,  very  sorry,”  she  replied  gravely ; “ and  I was  sorry,  too.” 

u You  have  known  them  a long  time  ? ” 

“ I have  grown  up  among  them,  and  they  have  always  done  every- 
thing they  could  to  please  me,”  she  said,  with  her  little  unconscious 
air  of  dignity.  “ They  used  to  bring  me  jam  and  apples  and  oranges, 


OUTLINED  AGAINST  THE  GREY  SKY . 


9 


whenever  a ship  passed  from  New  South  Wales  or  Tasmania;  and  I 
have  a necklace  made  from  the  mother-of-pearl  in  the  nautilus  shells 
they  got  for  me,  and  such  a beautiful  real  pearl  which  Barril  found 
himself,  and  which  I shall  wear  always.  It  was  Barril  who  carried  me 
on  shore  when  the  steamer  first  dropped  us  at  Muttabarra — I was  only 
three  years  old  then.  And  I have  never  gone  away  since,  till  to-day.” 

“ And  to-day  they  have  had  to  bid  good-bye  to  their  Little  Queen. 
I don’t  wonder  that  they  were  sad.  But  you  must  feel  that  you  are 
going  to  take  possession  of  a kingdom  instead  of  leaving  one.  Isn’t 
this  the  case  ? ” 

“ It  was  your  kingdom  a little  while  ago,”  said  Koorali,  looking  at 
him  with  a sort  of  innocent  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

He  could  not  help  smiling.  To  the  child  this  was  quite  a serious 
matter.  That  was  evident.  Her  father  was,  she  knew,  chief  minister 
of  the  country.  He  had  taken  Morse’s  place.  She  believed  him  to  be 
more  powerful  than  the  Governor.  She  wondered  that  any  one  could 
have  resigned  so  splendid  a position.  As  for  herself,  she  was  going 
down  to  reign  by  this  monarch’s  side.  Perhaps  she  fancied  that  she 
might  help  to  sway  the  destinies  of  Australia.  It  was  very  childlike 
and  yet  very  natural,  and  only  a more  brilliant  continuation  of  what 
had  gone  before.  Probably  she  had  always  had  a voice  in  everything 
— in  affairs  at  the  lighthouse  as  well  as  on  her  father’s  station.  The 
pilots  had  worshipped  her,  of  course,  and  every  one  had  bowed  down 
before  her ; and  perhaps  she  fancied  that  the  heads  of  departments, 
and  the  Government  officials,  and  the  members  of  Parliament,  and  all 
the  rest,  would  also  acknowledge  her  supremacy.  Poor  Little  Queen  1 


CHAPTER  II. 

OUTLINED  AGAINST  THE  GREY  SKY. 

Falling  in  with  the  fancy,  Morse  said,  “ I shall  think  of  you  when 
I am  far  away,  and  be  glad  that  you  are  in  my  place.” 

A curious  thought  came  into  his  mind : “ After  all,  why  am  I 
leaving  the  place?”  Aloud  he  only  said,  “I  hope  you  will  like  your 
crown.  But  crowns  in  our  day  are  not  crowns  of  roses.”  Then  he 
thought  he  was  talking  sentimentality,  not  to  say  nonsense. 

“ If  I were  really  a queen,”  Koorali  said  quite  seriously  and  earnestly, 
“ I shouldn’t  care  about  a crown.  I should  only  care  for  my  people. 
My  kingdom  should  be  in  their  hearts.  But  that  can’t  be,  I suppose, 
in  this  prosaic  world,  or  the  time  for  it  is  past.” 

Morse  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  was  gazing  thoughtfully  out  to 
sea. 

“I  am  afraid  the  spirit  is  dead;  but  the  form  remains,”  he  said 
dreamily,  “like  one  of  your  ‘ringed’  gum-trees.  Perhaps  monarchy 
is  one  of  the  ringed  gum-trees  already,”  he  added,  turning  to  her  with 
his  bright  smile,  in  which  there  was  something  enigmatical 
2 


IO 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


t(  So  I don’t  think  I would  have  any  more  crowns,”  continued 
Koorali.  “ That  was  what  I was  thinking  of  when  I said  that  I should 
like  to  see  Australia  a republic.  There  are  not  any  real  heart-kings 
and  queens  now,  are  there?  And  strong  young  countries  ought  not 
to  care  about  names  and  forms.” 

Her  childlike  earnestness  and  eagerness  amused  and  also  touched 
him.  Heart-king!  Heart-queen!  He  echoed  the  fanciful  phrase. 
It  clung  to  him. 

“ You  are  longing  to  get  to  your  kingdom — or  republic  ? ” he  asked. 
“ Oh  yes,”  she  replied  gravely.  “1  am  longing  to  see  the  world, 
and  the  great  struggles  of  ambition  and  public  life.” 

The  world — the  great  struggles  of  ambition  and  public  life — in  a 
second-class  Australian  colony  which  he  was  leaving  because  he  found 
it  insufferably  narrow,  because  it  was  stifling  him  with  its  narrowness ! 
He  was  curiously  touched. 

“Why  are  you  going  away?”  she  suddenly  asked  in  a tone  of 
wonder  and  pity,  as  if  in  leaving  that  place  he  must  be  leaving  all. 

“ I am  going  to  see  my  world,  and  to  begin  my  great  struggle  of 
ambition  and  my  public  life — in  London.” 

“ Is  London  your  only  world  ? ” 

“ I think  so.” 

She  did  not  speak.  She  appeared  to  be  reflecting.  Evidently  his 
words  had  opened  out  dim  vistas.  Just  then  a bell  clanged.  It  was 
disturbing,  and  Morse  knew  that  another — the  signal  for  breakfast — 
would  soon  ring  also.  People  had  begun  to  come  upon  deck.  Among 
them  were  several  ladies.  These  eyed  Koorali  with  frank  curiosity. 
She  suddenly  became  conscious  of  their  interest,  and  seemed  to 
remember  the  loss  of  her  hat,  for  she  involuntarily  raised  her  hand  to 
her  bare  head,  then  got  up,  and,  with  her  air  of  easy  self-possession, 
brought  the  little  tete-a-tete  to  a close. 

“ 1 think  I had  better  go  down  and  try  to  find  something  to  put  on. 
I don’t  see  Judge  O’Beirne.  Would  you  please  ask  the  Captain  to 
have  my  pack  taken  to  the  ladies’  cabin  ? ” 

She  made  her  peremptory  little  demand  with  great  sweetness. 
Morse  conducted  her  to  the  hatchway,  and  then  gave  instructions 
about  the  curious-looking  canvas  bags  which  he  supposed  contained 
the  young  lady’s  wardrobe.  He  smiled  to  himself  as  he  watched  a 
sailor  remove  them  from  the  deck.  He  was  a little,  sorry  the  conver- 
sation had  ended  so  abruptly,  and  wondered  if  it  would  be  renewed 
during  the  twenty-four  hours  they  were  to  pass  together  on  board  the 
steamer.  He  had  ascertained  that  they  would  reach  Moreton  Bay  early 
on  the  following  morning.  There,  according  to  the  official  programme, 
the  Ministers  would  come  on  board  from  the  Government  steamboat ; 
there  would  be  a breakfast,  and  his  (Morse’s)  health  would  be  drunk 
in  bumpers  of  champagne.  There  would  be  as  much  speechifying  as 
the  tide  and  the  state  of  the  river  bar  would  permit.  Then  the  fare- 
wells would  be  said.  Koorali,  under  her  father’s  escort,  would  be 
transferred  to  the  little  steamer.  She  would  find  her  world  some  forty 


OUTLINED  AGAINST  THE  GREY  SKY. 


11 


miles  up  the  river  in  the  petty  colonial  capital  he  had  left  for  ever ; 
while  he  would  speed  on  his  way  to  that  other  world — the  world  of 
politics,  of  wealth,  of  fashion,  of  poverty,  misery,  ruin  ; the  world  of 
contrasts,  the  world  of  London;  and  the  bright  vision  which  had  come 
to  him  with  the  morning’s  dawn  would  be  only  but  as  the  remembrance 
of  a dream. 

It  seemed  that  at  present  little  in  the  shape  of  harmonious  conver- 
sation was  to  come  of  the  keynote  which  had  been  struck.  Nothing 
is  easier  on  a crowded  steamer  than  for  two  people  to  be  for  hours 
within  a few  yards  of  each  other  and  yet  have  no  opportunity  for  the 
interchange  of  ideas.  Morse  saw  Koorali  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
long  breakfast-table,  but  he  was  not  near  enough  to  hear  her  speak. 
Her  pretty  pathetic  face  was  framed  in  the  wide  black  brim  of  a 
severely  simple  bonnet,  which  he  imagined  must  belong  to  a grim 
stewardess,  whom  he  had  seen  hanging  about  the  entrance  to  the 
ladies’  cabin.  The  bonnet,  in  spite  of  its  plainness  and  its  black 
border,  had  a quaint  appearance,  and  suited  the  young  girl’s  delicate 
expressive  features,  pale  clear  skin,  and  deep  wistful  eyes.  Morse 
mentally  applied  to  her  adjectives  which  give  the  impression  of  some- 
thing plaintive  and  sad ; yet  he  could  not  be  blind  to  a certain  childish 
freshness  and  innocent  confidence  in  her  look  which  were  at  times 
especially  noticeable  and  charming.  It  seemed  to  him  that  this  extreme 
youthfulness  and  brightness  of  hope  only  deepened  the  suggestion  of 
tragedy  that  struck  him  more  than  anything  else  about  her.  It  was 
by  this  tragic  touch  that  she  seized  his  interest.  Underlying  much 
that  was  cold  and  practical  in  Morse’s  nature,  there  was  a keen  poetic 
faculty.  He  took  life  seriously,  and,  though  he  had  a shrewd  and  ready 
perception  of  the  humorous,  his  bent  was  rather  to  its  melancholy 
phases. 

All  the  morning  Koorali  flitted  hither  and  thither,  inspecting  the 
various  parts  of  the  steamer,  chattering  to  the  Captain,  and  asking 
Judge  O’Beirne  questions  about  the  people  she  was  to  know  and  the 
things  she  was  to  do.  However  pensive  her  face  might  be,  her  dis- 
position was  as  gay,  apparently,  as  that  of  a child,  and  she  seemed  to 
enjoy  life  as  heartily.  She  was  a pretty  figure  as  she  stood  on  the 
bridge,  and  looked  at  the  coast  through  the  Captain’s  telescope. 
Morse’s  eyes  often  wandered  towards  her  as  he  sat  on  the  lower  deck, 
but  he  did  not  go  near  or  try  to  monopolize  her. 

He  left  her  to  the  Judge  and  to  the  young  barristers  all  the  afternoon 
also.  He  had  letters  of  importance  to  write — parting  letters  to  political 
friends  and  colleagues — to  political  foes  as  well ; and  he  had  his  own 
future  to  think  about,  and  certain  vague  ambitious  schemes  to  mature 
— schemes  which,  now  that  he  had  cut  himself  adrift  from  Australian 
life,  seemed  to  loom  more  definite  and  distinct.  He  had  only  now 
begun  to  realize — and  he  had  done  so  with  a sense  of  shock — how  vast 
was  his  ambition,  how  intense  his  determination  to  carve  his  own 
career  after  the  fashion  that  conformed  with  his  character  and  with 
principles  and  theories  that  were  powerful  enough  to  be  motive  springs. 


12 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


As  he  sat  writing  and  thinking,  Judge  O’Beirne’s  Irish  tones  and 
Koorali’s  voice  and  laugh  floated  down  to  him  through  the  half-open 
skylight.  He  could  not  hear  what  they  were  saying,  but  the  image 
and  thought  of  the  girl  blended  with  his  more  serious  reflections,  and 
gave  him  a strange  feeling  of  double  existence.  He  could  not  get 
rid  of  the  fancy  that  he  was  standing  on  the  verge  of  two  lives,  and 
that  the  hour  of  choice  and  crisis  had  come.  For  the  first  time  he 
questioned,  in  a fugitive  way,  the  wisdom  of  beginning  what  he  had 
called  his  great  struggle  of  ambition,  and  of  plunging,  as  he  meant  to 
do,  into  the  very  current  of  life.  He  wondered  vaguely  within  him- 
self whether  after  all  it  would  not  have  been  better  to  remain  in 
Australia — to  give  his  energies  and  talents  to  the  fostering  of  a new, 
strong,  yet  unfledged  country,  and  to  leave  ruined  institutions  and 
corrupt  social  systems  to  dwindle  into  decay.  He  was  alone  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  saloon,  and  his  mood  suffered  no  interruption  from 
the  other  passengers,  who,  seeing  him  occupied  with  documents  and 
correspondence,  respected  his  statesmanlike  attitude.  He  shook  him- 
self free  at  last  of  the  dreamy  consciousness  of  Koorali’s  influence,  and 
his  pen  dashed  off  vigorously,  never  resting  till  dinner  time.  It  was 
not  for  some  time  after  that  meal,  and  when  the  claims  of  whist  and 
hot  toddy  called  the  Judge  below,  that  he  again  found  himself  near 
Koorali.  She  was  left  by  Judge  O’Beirne  tucked  up  under  a rug  in  a 
deck  chair  placed  in  that  sheltered  corner  to  which  Morse  had  brought 
her  in  the  morning.  She  had  taken  off  her  bonnet,  and  a white 
woollen  shawl  was  wrapped  round  her  shoulders,  and  partially  covered 
her  head.  She  looked  very  soft  and  sweet,  and  there  was  a radiance 
on  her  face  not  of  the  dawn  now,  but  of  the  setting  sun.  She  was  not 
talking  to  any  one — there  was  no  one  near,  but  her  thoughts  seemed 
almost  as  animated  as  her  conversation,  for  she  was  smiling  to  herself, 
and  her  features  were  lighted  up  with  bright  interest  and  a sort  of 
eager  anticipation.  He  guessed  what  she  was  thinking.  The  steamer 
was  speeding  smoothly  along.  A few  more  hours  and  life  would  have 
become  dramatic. 

It  seemed  quite  natural  for  him  to  come  near  and  remark,  smiling 
as  he  spoke,  “You  haven’t  much  longer  to  wait  now.  You  will  soon 
be  seeing  the  world.” 

“Oh!”  She  gave  a little  start,  and  looked  at  him  questioningly, 
as  though  she  were  not  quite  sure  if  he  meant  to  be  serious.  But  she 
did  not  put  her  doubt  into  words,  as  for  an  instant  he  feared,  and  he 
f felt  a swift  pang  at  the  notion  of  having  damped  her  girlish  enthusiasm. 

“Only  till  to-morrow,”  she  replied  simply.  “I  have  been  thinking 
how  lovely  it  will  all  be.  I think  it  is  so  delightful  to  look  forward 
and  picture  things.  Don’t  you  ? ” 

He  seated  himself.  “I  don’t  want  to  be  depressing;  but  I suppose 
most  people  would  tell  you  that  picturing  things  beforehand  is  the  best 
part  of  it.” 

“ Not  to  me.  Everything  turns  out  to  be  better  than  I fancy  it. 
I iud  everything  that  I want  to  happen  comes  to  pass.” 


OUTLINED  AGAINST  THE  GREY  SKY . 


13 

“ You  are  a fortunate  girl,”  said  Morse.  “ Perhaps,  however,  it  is 
because  your  wishes  are  not  very  extravagant.” 

Koorali  laughed  softly.  “ A few  of  my  wishes  are  very  extravagant. 
They  belong  to  a fairy  tale,  and  are  such  a loner  way  off  that  I only 
dream  of  their  being  fulfilled  some  time.  Like  going  to  heaven  or  my 
ideal  republic.  Seeing  London  is  one  of  them.” 

“ You  will  go  there  some  day.  Every  one  goes  to  London.” 

“Ah,  some  day  ! ” she  repeated,  with  a pretty  movement  of  her  hands. 
"I  shall  be  there  within  six  weeks;  and  I shall  expect  to  meet  you 
there  some  time  within  six  years.  At  the  most,  that  is  not  such  a 
long  way  off.  Then  I shall  remind  you  of  our  little  voyage  together, 
and  1 shall  ask  you  if  all  your  wishes,  even  the  most  extravagant  ones, 
have  been  so  literally  fulfilled.” 

“Yes;  and  I shall  ask  you ” she  began  impulsively,  and  paused. 

“What  shall  you  ask  me?  I promise  to  answer  your  questions, 
whatever  they  may  be.” 

She  shrank  a little  as  if  in  shyness,  but  did  not  lower  her  eyes, 
which  met  his. 

“I  think  you  want  to  do  something  great.  You  have  a look  on 
3Tour  face — like  that — as  if  you  had  a star  to  follow,  or  there  were  an 
Austerlitz  before  you.  I should  like  to  ask  you  when  we  meet  in 
London  if  you  had  done  what  you  wanted.” 

“Ah!  ” he  exclaimed,  “ I will  answer  that  beforehand.  No.  Who 
among  ordinary  men  does  anything  great?  Who  succeeds?  Or  if 
success  comes  to  the  exceptional  man  for  a time,  how  long  does  it  last  ? 
If  there  is  an  Austerlitz,  doesn’t  there  come  a Waterloo  at  the  end? 
But  perhaps  it  is  worth  trying  even  for  defeat.  And,  as  you  say  very 
prettily,  one  must  follow  his  star.” 

There  was  a short  silence.  Presently  Koorali  said,  “ I shouldn’t  like 
to  feel  like  that.  I couldn’t  look  forward  to  disappointment.  I don’t 
believe  in  disappointment,  or  in  not  being  happy.  I have  always  been 
happy.  I mean  always  to  be  happy,  and  to  make  people  glad.” 

“ I think  you  will  do  that  last  thing,”  he  answered,  “ though  you 
may  not  be  able  to  help  causing  unhappiness,  too.  But,”  he  added, 
seeing  that  she  turned  quickly,  and  looked  a little  surprised,  “it  is 
quite  evident  that  your  views  of  life  are  justified  by  experience,  since 
everything  you  ever  wished  to  happen  has  come  to  pass.” 

Koorali  turned  to  him  again  with  a little  eager  uplifting  of  her  chin. 
“ I did  so  want  to  leave  the  Bush  when  I was  grown  up.  I wanted 
to  be  at  the  heart  of  things — to  know  what  the  people  who  lived  in 
cities  did  and  felt  and  thought.  It  was  my  dream.  And  now,  you 
see  how  soon  it  has  all  come  to  me.” 

“It  would  have  come  in  the  natural  order  of  things,  wouldn’t  it?” 
he  asked. 

“ Oh ! a long  time  hence.  You  see,  father  wouldn’t  have  been  rich 
enough  to  take  a house  in  the  town,  and  give  me  all  the  things  I 
wanted  unless  he  had  got  an  appointment.  And  he  would  not  have 
accepted,  nor  should  I have  liked  him  to  have,  any  but  the  first  place. 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


14 

You  had  the  first  place,”  she  added  simply,  “ and  no  one  could  have 
supposed  that  you  would  give  it  up  of  your  free  will.” 

“ So,”  he  said,  “ you  owe  to  me  the  realization  of  one  of  your  dreams 
at  least.  It’s  a little  hard  that  I shouldn’t  see  you  enjoying  it.  Tell 
me,”  he  said  abruptly,  after  a moment’s  pause,  “how  did  you  come  by 
your  wild,  strange  name? — Koorali,”  he  lingered  softly  on  the  syllables. 
“ I never  heard  it  before.” 

“ It’s  a native  name.  Kooral  is  the  blacks’  word  for  snakes.  I was 
called  after  a place  on  the  station  where  I was  born — not  Muttabarra — 
a station  further  south,  among  the  mountains.  The  reason  is  a sad 
little  story.  Shall  I tell  it  to  you?” 

“ Oh  yes ! ” exclaimed  Morse. 

“There’s  a deep  ravine  down  there,”  said  Koorali.  “It’s  called  the 
Kooral  Gully,  because  of  the  snakes,  Aunt  Janet  says.  I don’t  suppose 
there  were  really  more  snakes  there  than  anywhere  else.  Anyhow,  my 
mother  and  father  had  to  camp  in  it  once,  with  my  little  brother — my 
own,  only  brother,  and  his  nurse  let  him  get  bitten  by  a death  adder. 
He  just  lived  an  hour  or  two.  My  mother  drove  home  with  him  in 
her  arms  dead.  Soon  afterwards  I was  born,  and  my  mother  died. 
When  they  asked  her  what  she  wished  my  name  to  be,  she  said  Koorali.” 
Morse  uttered  an  exclamation  of  interest  and  pity.  It  seemed  to 
him  fitting,  somehow,  that  there  should  be  this  tragic  association  with 
her  name.  He  was  deeply  touched.  Koorali’s  voice  had  taken  a more 
plaintive  intonation  as  she  told  the  little  tale. 

“ So  you  never  knew  your  mother  ? ” he  said.  “ And  you  lived 
among  the  mountains,  a poor  little  lonely  child  ? ” 

“Oh  no!”  she  answered.  “I  was  not  lonely.  Aunt  Janet  took 
care  of  me.  Everybody  has  always  been  good  to  me.  We  went  away. 
Father  could  not  bear  the  old  station.  He  didn’t  like  the  Bush  any 
longer.  He  has  never  been  much  at  Muttabarra.” 

Morse  would  have  liked  to  know  something  of  the  mental  relation- 
ship between  the  father  and  daughter.  He  could  not  connect  the  idea 
of  sentiment,  refinement  of  feeling,  or  intellectual  sympathy  with  his 
impression  of  the  shrewd,  somewhat  coarse,  self-interested,  rather 
Jewish-looking  man  who  was  now  at  the  head  of  affairs.  He  could 
not  imagine  Mr.  Middlemist  the  guide  and  friend  of  such  a girl  as 
Koorali.  But  he  asked  no  directly  leading  question.  After  all,  what 
did  it  matter  to  him?  So  he  only  said — 

“Your  story  is  very  sad  and  very  interesting.  I don’t  know  why 
I should  think  of  you  as  having  had  an  isolated  childhood,  or,  if  it 
were  the  case,  why  I should  pity  you.  It  is  a good  preparation  for  the 
inevitable  loneliness  of  life.” 

She  looked  at  him  straightly,  with  almost  mournful  interest. 

“ Are  you  lonely  ? ” she  asked. 

“I  am  quite  alone,”  he  answered.  “That  is,  I have  no  one  in  the 
world  near  enough  and  dear  enough  to  talk  to  quite  freely.” 

“Perhaps,”  she  said  slowly,  “when  you  are  in  England  you  will 
meet  with  some  one  whom  you  can  trust.’ 


OUTLINED  AGAINST  THE  GREY  SKY. 


15 

“Yus,”  lie  said — slowly,  too.  “It  is  quite  likely  that  I may  meet 
with  such  a one — in  England.  Some  one  to  trust,”  he  went  on, 
dreamily,  “ some  one  to  share  one’s  soul  with ; some  one  whose 
sympathy  would  bring  a sense  of  measureless  content.”  He  recalled 
himself  with  a slight  gesture  and  a little  laugh.  In  truth,  he  suddenly 
found  himself  wondering  how  he,  who  was  usually  so  reticent,  could 
speak  thus  to  a girl  whom  he  had  met  but  a few  hours  before.  “ Odd 
fancies ! w he  said,  “ but  a man  has  them ; and  women,  too,  I suppose, 
for  that  matter.  They’ll  come  to  you  some  day,  Little  Queen.  For- 
give me.  You  see  I have  caught  Judge  O’Beirne’s  phrase.” 

Koorali  had  withdrawn  her  eyes  lingeringly  from  his  face  while  he 
spoke.  She  did  not  seem  to  notice  his  apology. 

“I  don’t  think  one  is  ever  quite  alone,”  she  said  in  a thoughtful 
way.  “ W e are  not  alone  in  dreams ; and  sometimes  it  seems  to  me 
that  life  is  like  a dream,  and  that  there  is  a world  quite  close  to  us  full 
of  beautiful,  bodiless  things — fancies,  and  music,  and  poetry,  and  lovely 
visions,  that  would  become  real  if  only  we  could  strain  a little  further, 
or  see  a little  clearer,  or  hear  a little  more  distinctly.  I feel  like  that 
— all  strange  and  so  near,  so  near  to  fuller  life,  when  I am  all  by 
myself  in  the  Bush.  I feel  like  that  often ” 

“ And  yet  you  want  to  know  the  life  of  cities,  where  these  things  are 
not?” 

“ Oh ! ” she  said,  shrinking,  “ I shouldn’t  like  to  think  that  I would 
lose  my  beautiful  fancies.  Don’t  tell  me  that.” 

“No;  I will  not  prophesy  sadness.  I will  only  ask  you  when — or 
if — we  meet  in  the  glare  and  noise  of  a London  drawing-room,  whether 
the  beautiful  fancies  are  with  you  still;  and  if  you  have  kept  them  I 
shall  be  very  glad.” 

“ Tell  me  something  about  London,”  she  said,  and  began  to  ask  him 
questions  in  her  quick,  impulsive  way. 

The  night  had  closed  in,  and  the  wide  waste  of  waters  gleamed  with 
phosphorescent  patches.  Their  talk  glided  on  from  one  subject  to 
another  in  pleasant  fitful  fashion.  Nothing  remarkable  was  said,  yet 
all  seemed  tinged  by  the  witchery  of  the  hour.  To  Morse  there  was 
something  strangely  fresh  and  sympathetic  in  Koorali’s  simple  remarks. 
He  liked  their  poetic  flavour.  As  a matter  of  fact,  the  companiom^hip 
of  very  young  women  was  not  usually  agreeable  to  him.  He  was  a 
man  who  affected — in  all  pure  intent — the  company  of  married  women, 
and  he  held  a theory  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  fall  in 
love  with  any  except  a woman  of  society — highly  trained,  sweet  of 
nature,  noble,  and  true,  but,  all  the  same,  one  versed  in  the  refinements 
and  subtleties  of  modern  civilization.  Nevertheless,  he  liked  this  girl ; 
her  talk  charmed  him.  He  was  touched  by  her  crude  optimism.  She 
was  so  undeveloped,  and  at  the  same  time,  he  thought,  so  full  of 
capabilities.  In  spite  of  his  theories,  he  liked  her  air  of  other-world- 
liness.  He  liked  the  quick  way  in  which  she  seized  an  idea,  her  ready 
sympathy  and  almost  tender  interest.  She  set  him  thinking ; and,  as 
he  paced  the  deck,  long  after  she  had  gone  below,  his  mind  dwelt  upon 


i6 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


her.  He  could  fancy  how  she  would  throw  herself  heart  and  soul  into 
the  honourable  ambitions  of  a husband  she  loved ; how  she  would 
make  his  ideas  her  own  ; how  complete  and  soothing,  and  yet  how 
stimulating,  would  be  her  companionship.  What  a relief  it  would  be 
to  turn  to  her  from  the  fret  and  struggle  of  public  aflairs — to  turn  from 
life’s  prose  to  its  poetry. 

Morning  saw  the  mail  boat  anchored  in  the  bay,  and  soon  the 
Government  tender,  all  decorated  with  flags,  steamed  gaily  to  her 
side.  The  Ministers  came  on  board,  and,  after  a little  of  that  pre- 
liminary fuss  and  ceremonial  in  which  the  baby  colony  delights,  the 
farewell  banquet  to  Morse  began. 

Mr.  Middlemist,  foremost  of  the  Government  deputation,  seemed 
more  engrossed  by  his  official  duties  than  by  the  meeting  with  his 
daughter.  It  was  not  till  after  he  had  made  a florid  little  address  to 
Morse  that  he  kissed  Koorali,  bidding  her  welcome,  and  formally 
introducing  her  to  his  colleagues.  Morse,  watching  her,  saw  a slightly 
pained  bewildered  look  cross  her  face ; but  it  did  not  stay  there  long. 
Soon  she  was  at  ease,  and  had  apparently  settled  in  her  mind  that 
the  exigencies  of  a political  function  required  that  there  should  be 
as  little  show  as  possible  of  family  affection. 

Two  or  three  of  the  Ministers’  wives  were  of  the  party,  and 
Koorali  took  the  place  among  them  that  her  father  evidently 
intended  should  be  ceded  to  her.  The  little  by-play  amused  Morse. 
He  observed  that  the  Premier  glanced  with  dissatisfaction  at  the 
stewardess’s  bonnet,  and  that  at  the  banquet  Koorali  sat  bareheaded 
on  the  right  of  the  new  Postmaster-General,  Mr.  Crichton  Ken  way. 

Mr.  Ken  way  was  a young  man  evidently  not  of  colonial  origin. 
Indeed,  Morse  had  already  incidentally  heard  that  he  belonged  to  an 
impoverished  English  family  which  had  once  owned  ancestral  acres 
in  a midland  county  that  he  himself  knew.  Crichton  Kenway  wras 
of  a type  very  different  from  that  of  his  colleague,  the  Premier.  Mr. 
Middlemist  was  beyond  middle  age,  short,  dark,  and  plebeian.  He 
was  stout,  with  stubby  iron-grey  whiskers  and  clean-shaven  upper 
lip  and  chin.  He  looked  like  a man  who  took  life  from  an  eminently 
practical  point  of  view,  and  was  not  free  from  its  grosser  influences. 
Studying  his  face  and  manner  now,  Morse  could  not  reconcile  them 
with  Koorali’s  sad  little  story  of  the  break-up  of  his  home,  and  with 
the  idea  of  devoted  constancy  to  a dead  wife’s  memory. 

Crichton  Ken  way,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  fairly  fitted  to  be 
a hero  of  romance  of  the  conventional  order.  He  was  tall,  upright, 
good-looking,  well  dressed,  and  had  an  air  of  breeding.  His  head 
could  not  be  called  intellectual,  but  his  fair  hair,  parted  down  the 
middle,  grew  back  from  the  temples,  and  his  forehead  thus  appeared 
higher  than  it  really  w?a.s.  lie  had  a look  of  alertness  also,  and  a 
rather  anxiously  pleasant  manner,  as  if  he  wished  to  produce  a good 
impression  and  was  keenly  alive  to  his  own  advantage.  He  had 
bright,  rather  hard  blue  eyes,  straight  features,  and  a fine  drooping 
blonde  moustache  which,  perhaps  fortunately,  fell  over  his  mouth. 


OUTLINED  AGAINST  THE  GREY  SKY. 


17 


His  chin,  however,  was  decisively  cut,  somewhat  pointed,  and  he  had 
a long,  lean  throat  that  suggested  distinction,  though  it  sometimes 
gave  him  a sort  of  rapacious  look,  like  that  of  a fine  young  bird  of 
prey.  He  was  young,  not  more  than  thirty,  if  so  much,  and  it  was 
a proof  of  ability  that  he  should  hold  even  a subordinate  place  in 
the  new  Cabinet.  The  position  of  Postmaster-General,  it  should 
perhaps  be  said,  was  not  quite  on  a par  with  that  of  the  other 
Ministers.  Till  Middlemist’s  accession  to  power  the  Postmaster- 
General  had  been  merely  the  head  of  a department,  hut  when  the 
office  had  been  conferred  upon  Crichton  Ken  way  it  had  become  minis- 
terial, and  its  holder  represented  the  Government  in  the  upper  house. 

To  Morse  there  was  something  dreamlike  about  the  banquet.  He 
could  hardly  realize  that  this  was  his  farewell  to  Australia,  even  when, 
in  an  impressive  and  heartfelt  speech,  he  returned  thanks  for  the 
Premier’s  valedictory  encomium  of  his  policy  and  his  personal  qualities 
and  for  the  enthusiastic  manner  in  which  his  health  had  been  drunk. 
He  had  an  odd  feeling  that  he  was  a grown-up  youth  leaving  the 
school  in  which  he  had  been  trained,  in  order  to  begin  his  fight  with 
the  world.  The  ceremonial,  the  fine  speeches,  the  bombast,  the  reci- 
procal compliments,  all  struck  him  with  a dash  of  humour  and  even 
of  scorn  with  which  blended  as  well  a melancholy  sentiment  and  a 
tender  regret.  Or,  he  fancied,  he  might  be  an  actor  called  from  a 
provincial  company  with  which  he  had  played  happily  for  a time,  to 
some  great  London  theatre.  He  felt  himself  fitted  for  some  higher 
destiny;  he  despised  the  mimic  sovereigns  of  tragedy  and  comedy, 
the  stage  strut,  the  tinsel,  the  petty  jealousy,  the  self-sufficiency ; the 
dense  self-interest  which  smothered  higher  aims  and  abstract  motives. 
Already  he  was  far  away  from  all  this,  and  yet  he  was  sad  to  leave  the 
old  life,  sad  to  think  of  the  Little  Queen  who  was  so  contented  with 
her  sphere,  and  who  would  perhaps  marry  the  jeune  premier  and  go 
on  playing  leading  lady  to  a provincial  audience,  never  dreaming  that 
she  had  in  her  the  capacity  of  a Rachel  or  a Sarah  Bernhardt. 

At  last  it  was  over — the  orations,  the  champagne  drinking,  the 
compliments.  The  Captain  had  made  his  little  speech,  in  which  he 
reminded  the  company  that  he  was  due  in  Sydney  at  a certain  hour  to 
catch  the  English  mail  boat,  and  that  time  and  tide  would  not  wait 
even  for  an  ex-premier  and  his  successor.  So  they  all  left  the  saloon, 
which  somehow  remained  impressed  upon  Morse’s  memory — the  stuffy 
atmosphere,  the  gilding,  the  long  table  heaped  with  tropical  fruits,  the 
scent  of  bananas  and  pineapples,  the  soft-footed  Chinese  waiters,  the 
puffy,  vulgar-looking  man  at  the  head  of  the  table,  the  quaint  poetic 
face  of  the  young  girl,  and  the  good-looking,  self-satisfied  man  by  her 
side.  They  were  on  deck  again,  and  both  steamers  were  making 
ready  to  start — the  little  steamer,  her  flags  flying,  puffing  spasmodi- 
cally, and  the  big  one  with  its  screw  slowly  heaving.  There  was 
much  hand-shaking,  and  there  were  many  cheers  given.  The  Ministers 
and  their  wives  and.  the  passengers  for  the  capital  had  gone  on  board 
the  tender.  Koorali,  her  father,  and  Crichton  Kenway  wero  the  last. 


i8 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE, ; 


The  four  stood  together.  Morse  took  Koorali’s  hand  in  his.  “Good- 
bye,” he  said,  and  smiled  that  winning  smile  which  lit  up  his  dark 
Napoleonic  face.  “ Good-bye,  Little  Queen,”  he  added  in  a lower 
voice.  “ 1 hope  that  you  may  be  happy  in  your  kingdom.” 

He  did  not  add  a wish  that  they  might  meet  again.  At  that 
moment  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  that  he  preferred  to 
, keep  unspoiled  in  his  recollection  that  picture  of  her  as  she  stood  out- 
lined against  the  grey  sky  with  the  light  of  dawn  upon  her  face. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LADY  BETTY  MORSE. 

About  ten  years  had  passed  away  since  the  parting  vessels  separated 
Morse  and  Koorali.  We  are  in  London.  There  was  a great  party  at 
the  house  of  a London  lady  of  high  social  distinction — a sort  of  queen 
of  society.  It  was  still  somewhat  early  in  the  season — a season  that 
had  been  specially  brilliant  thus  far.  It  was  a very  interesting  season; 
because  soon  after  its  opening  there  came  the  sudden  collapse  of  a 
Ministry  believed  to  be  remarkably  strong  in  the  affections  of  the 
country.  It  would  be  utterly  superfluous  to  tell  the  intelligent  reader 
of  the  unending  amount  of  talk  which  such  an  event  supplies  in  circles 
where  everybody  knows  somebody  whose  career  has  for  the  moment 
been  blighted  by  the  event,  and  some  one  else  whose  hopes  have  been 
set  burning  brightly.  The  lady  at  whose  house  this  party  is  taking 
place  was  in  the  very  heart  of  London  political  society ; and  she  was 
the  wife  of  one  of  the  fallen  Ministry.  Moreover,  she  was  the  wife  of 
a Minister  who  was  generally  credited  with  having  tried  to  bring  about 
the  collapse.  He  had  been  riding  for  a fall,  people  said.  He  was 
supposed  to  have  found  the  Cabinet  not  strong  enough  in  its  radicalism 
for  his  tastes;  to  have  considered  it  was  weak-kneed,  and  not  fulfilling 
its  promises  to  the  country;  and  he  stood  apart  somehow;  seemed 
to  sulk  rather;  and  his  attitude  encouraged  the  enemies  of  the  Govern- 
ment, it  was  argued;  and  these  enemies  were  spirited  on  to  bold  and 
persistent  endeavours.  At  last  they  succeeded  in  forming  a temporary 
combination  of  genuine  opposition  and  casual  malcontent,  and  they 
“ went  for  ” the  Ministry  at  a moment  of  peculiar  crisis  and  carried 
a vote  against  the  Government,  and  the  Government  came  to  an  end 
— collapsed  like  a house  of  cards. 

Lady  Betty  Morse  was  the  hostess  whose  guests  choked  with  their 
carriages  and  hansom  cabs  that  part  of  Lark  Lane  in  which  she  lived. 
Lady  Betty  was  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  of  Germilion.  She  was 
rich ; she  was  singularly  pretty  ; she  was  still  well  under  thirty  years 
old,  and  she  was  the  wife  of  Sandham  Morse — “The  Right  Honourable 
Sandham  Morse,  M.P.,”  who  had  but  lately  been  one  of  her  Majesty's 
Secretaries  of  State.  It  was  a love  match  altogether,  society  said ; 
for  Morse's  politics  were  directly  opposed  to  those  of  Lord  Ger- 


LADY  BETTY  MORSE . 


19 


milion.  Lady  Betty  and  Morse  had  been  drawn  together  by  feelings, 
not  politics.  And  when  it  was  clear  that  she  loved  him,  Lord  Ger- 
milion  was  far  too  fond  of  his  pretty  daughter,  his  only  child,  to  think 
of  crossing  her  in  her  love.  He  accepted  Morse,  the  Radical  from 
the  colonies,  with  remarkably  good  grace ; and  congratulated  himself 
that  his  son-in-law  was  a rising  man,  a man  of  acknowledged  ability  ; 
and  that  “he  has  the  inestimable  advantage  of  being  a gentleman, 
which,  by  Jove,  sir,  can’t  be  said  for  every  Cabinet  Minister  nowa- 
days.” Lord  Germilion  had  been  heard  to  express  his  regret  that, 
since  he  had  no  son,  the  succession  to  the  title  could  not  be  settled  on 
his  son-in-law  instead  of  his  nephew. 

Nothing  could  be  prettier  than  Lady  Betty.  Her  head  was  small 
and  shapely,  and  was  set  with  exquisite  grace  on  her  slender  neck; 
her  dark  brown  eyes,  with  a glance  in  them  like  that  of  a stag  or  a 
gazelle,  went  with  kindly  penetration  straight  to  the  heart  of  every 
one ; her  conversation  sparkled  as  well  as  her  eyes.  She  did  not 
really  say  very  brilliant  things,  but  she  always  conveyed  the  idea 
of  cleverness ; and,  indeed,  she  was  decidedly  clever,  although  not 
perhaps  very  intellectual.  She  and  her  husband  were,  after  several 
years  of  matrimony,  still  very  much  attached  to  one  another,  though 
not  in  the  Darby  and  Joan  fashion ; their  position  put  that  out  of 
the  question.  Lady  Betty  liked  society,  and  was  made  for  it.  She 
went  out  incessantly ; and  Morse’s  political  duties  naturally  took  up 
a great  part  of  his  time.  Yet  they  saw  ench  other  at  some  hour 
in  every  day,  and  were  considered  a devoted  couple.  They  had  no 
children.  Sometimes  a pair  are  drawn  more  closely  together  because 
they  have  no  children  ; the  affections  concentrate  themselves. 

For  all  that  has  been  said  in  the  way  of  dogma  on  the  subject,  it  is 
still  perhaps  possible  to  believe  that  a poet  may  be  made,  although  he 
has  not  been  born.  But  the  most  disputatious  person  will  not  venture 
to  gainsay  the  assertion  that  a hostess  must  be  born,  and  cannot  be 
made.  No  training  can  make  a woman  into  a hostess.  Nature  must 
have  sent  her  into  the  world  preordained  and  specially  constructed  for 
the  high  position.  She  must  be  a sort  of  living  paradox.  She  must 
be  selfish  enough  to  have  a constant  look-out  for  her  own  advantages 
and  her  own  success;  she  must  be  unselfish  enough  to  feel  a real 
interest  in  every  one  who  comes  within  the  authority  of  her  circle. 
She  must  be  brimming  over  with  ready  sympathy  ; but  the  sympathy 
must  not  be  too  deep.  She  must  never  be  distracted  by  the  real 
distress  of  one  person  from  the  utterly  unreal  distresses  of  another. 
She  must  make  her  presence  felt  by  everybody.  The  ordinary  woman 
of  the  world,  who  stands  at  her  drawing-room  door  and  merely  goes 
through  the  ceremonial  of  formal  welcome  to  her  guests,  bears  about 
the  same  relationship  to  a real  hostess  that  a pump  does  to  a foun- 
tain. A woman  without  a generous,  kindly  heart  could  not  be  a 
hostess ; she  would  be  always  merely  the  unlighted  lamp.  But  your 
really  great  women — the  Sapphos,  the  Aspasias,  the  George  Sands, 
women  devoured  by  craving  for  experience,  eager  to  drink  life  to  the 


20 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE J 


dregs — are  not  fit  for  the  commonplace  part  of  hostess.  They  are  too 
preoccupied;  they  would  be  thrown  away  on  such  a position.  They 
are  too  strong,  and  yet  not  strong  enough,  for  the  place.  They  could 
not  help  showing  that  their  natures  needed  a more  powerful  stimu- 
lant ; and  that  they  wanted  to  soar  higher  and  to  go  deeper  to  the 
very  heart  of  things. 

Lady  Betty  Morse  was  a model  hostess.  She  stood  just  outside  the 
principal  reception-room,  facing  the  crowd  of  arrivals  who  thronged  the 
stairs  and  landing.  A curtain  of  heavy,  faded-looking  arras  draping 
the  doorway  made  a charming  background  to  her  slender  form — very 
richly  clad,  as  seemed  to  befit  her  position  and  the  occasion,  in  bro- 
caded stuff  of  dull  Venetian  red,  with  magnificent  jewels  upon  the 
ruffled  bodice  and  sparkling  on  her  neck  and  in  her  dark  hair.  It  was 
a fancy  of  Lady  Betty’s  to  dress  after  a somewhat  matronly  fashion, 
and  in  all  the  winning  charm  of  her  manner  there  was  not  the  faintest 
trace  of  coquetry.  Adulation,  great  people,  the  throbbing  interest  of 
public  affairs,  the  life  at  high  pressure  of  drawing-rooms,  the  ceaseless 
round  and  routine  of  society,  came  as  naturally  to  her  as  to  breathe. 
Any  one  could  see  at  a glance  that  she  liked  the  work  of  entertain- 
ing ; that  she  enjoyed  it ; delighted  in  it.  Her  beautiful  dark  eyes 
sparkled  with  gratification  as  her  guests  grouped  around  her.  She  was 
wonderfully  quick;  she  had  a charming  little  welcome  for  every  one. 
Each  man  got  a sentence,  or  at  least  a phrase,  all  to  himself ; quite 
peculiar;  sometimes  spoken  with  a winning  little  air  of  confidence,  as 
if  it  were  something  altogether  between  him  and  her  with  which  the 
outer  world  had  no  concern.  Men  who  were  but  new  acquaintances 
were  surprised  and  charmed  to  hear  a whispered  reference  thus  made 
to  something  they  had  said  when  they  first  were  introduced  to  her, 
and  which  they  assumed  she  had  forgotten  long  ago.  Then  she  liked 
women  as  well  as  men  ; and  women  liked  her.  She  never  flirted  ; but 
to  the  men  whom  she  really  liked  and  valued,  there  was  a certain 
tenderness  in  her  manner  and  her  tones  which  they  found  unspeakably 
delightful.  Her  ways  and  her  looks  seemed  to  say  to  each  of  these, 
“ Oh  yes ; I do  like  you  very  much ; and  you  know  it,  of  course.” 
And  she  did  like  them  in  the  sincerest  way,  and  she  was  not  in  the 
slightest  degree  a hypocrite.  She  was  a true  friend  to  those  whom  she 
liked;  and,  indeed,  would  ha,ve  proved  herself  a true  friend  to  any  ono 
who  stood  in  need  of  friendship  and  had  any  claim  on  her,  who  had 
even  the  mere  claim  on  her  friendship  that  is  constituted  by  the  need 
of  a friend. 

A little  group  of  men  had  ranged  themselves  just  within  the  door- 
way at  her  beck  ; but  their  homage  was  of  a somewhat  abstract  kind. 
They  did  not  look  like  men  who  went  in  for  the  business  of  flirtation — 
they  were  politicians,  diplomatists,  men  who  looked  at  her  with  fra- 
ternal admiration — not  one  after  the  pattern  of  reigning  adorer  to 
a fashionable  beauty ; not  one  whose  manner  suggested  deep  personal 
inteiest,  unless  indeed  one  might  except  a handsome  youth  of  seven- 
teen or  thereabouts,  with  long  curly  hair  and  dreamy  eyes,  who  held 


LADY  BETTY  MORSE . 


21 


her  fan,  took  her  commands,  and  seemed  to  delight  in  playing  the  part 
of  page.  “ My  pretty  page  ” was  indeed  Lady  Betty’s  pet  name  for 
the  boy.  Lenny,  who  was  her  latest  whim,  and  who  hung  about  her 
picturesquely. 

It  was  a very  charming  scene.  Lady  Betty’s  house,  like  everything 
else  about  her,  was  perfect  in  its  own  way,  though  nothing  in  it 
seemed  to  flaunt  merit.  It  was  not  gorgeous,  nor  eccentric,  nor  even 
artistic,  in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  word.  Lady  Betty  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  the  aesthetic  movement.  She  did  not  affect  the  early 
English,  the  Oriental,  the  Japanese,  the  Renaissance  style,  or  any 
other  of  the  prevailing  fads  of  fashion  in  the  matter  of  furniture  or 
decoration.  There  were  no  tawny  stuffs  from  Liberty’s  ; no  grotesque 
porcelain  monsters  ; no  strange  patterns  of  frieze  or  dado.  But  Lady 
Betty  liked  spacious  rooms  and  an  harmonious  background.  There 
was  a great  hall  in  the  centre  of  the  house,  its  ceiling  reaching  to  the 
roof,  galleries  ranging  its  sides,  and  a broad  oak  staircase  that  might 
have  been  brought  from  some  manorial  eastle.  There  was  much 
tapestry,  and  there  were  deep-hued  hangings,  and  a wonderful  medley 
of  rare  and  beautiful  things,  not  one  of  which  clashed  with  the  other. 
All,  in  studio  jargon,  composed  well;  no  single  article  was  obtrusive, 
even  in  worth.  Priceless  china  tried  to  hide  itself  in  recesses,  in  quaint 
cabinets,  and  above  carved  ledges.  There  were  pictures,  not  too  many, 
and  mostly  landscapes,  all  gems.  There  were  mirrors,  reflecting  back 
lights  and  people,  but  set  so  cunningly  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe 
they  were  mirrors.  The  lights  were  electric,  soft,  and  clear;  the 
frames  were  old  Florentine.  The  portraits,  what  there  were,  the  Ger- 
milion  ancestry  not  insisted  upon,  were  mellow  in  tone,  poetic,  sugg  s- 
tive.  And  yet,  was  Lady  Betty  quite  poetic?  Can  a woman  of  the 
world  distil  poetry  ? 

Every  one  who  attended  Lady  Betty  Morse’s  receptions  was,  to 
a student  of  men  and  manners,  worthy  of  note.  A representative  of 
almost  all  grades  of  aristocratic  Philistia  and  upper  Bohemia  might  be 
found  there  this  evening.  Prospective  monarchy,  giving  evidence  of 
the  trumpeted  Guelph  memory  for  faces  in  affable  recognitions  to  right 
and  left,  and  a lovely  princess,  who  claims  flowery  metaphors,  graceful 
as  the  lily  and  sweet  as  the  heliotrope,  the  colours  of  which  she  was 
wearing  to-night.  Lower  in  the  scale,  the  irreproachable  queen  of  the 
stage  whom  fashion  had  set  up  in  place  of  deposed  sovereigns — more 
magnetic  perhaps,  but  soul-vibrating  electricity  was  for  the  moment 
out  of  date ; a great  statesman,  crested  eagle  among  hawks ; a great 
soldier,  many  soldiers ; the  last  thing  in  foreign  serenities,  and  the 
newest  innovation  in  the  shape  of  bejewelled  Maharajahs ; the  tra- 
gedians of  Society ; its  licensed  jesters ; and  the  generals  of  the  army 
of  Art. 

All  such,  and  many  more,  greater  or  lesser,  upright  on  their  feet, 
some  on  the  outer  fringo  turning  wistful  glances  towards  vacant  chairs. 

There  had  been  a dinner  party,  of  course,  at  Lady  Betty’s  before  the 
e\  ening  party.  The  dinner  was  given  in  honour  of  a royal  prince  and 


22 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.1 


princess.  Lady  Betty  had  once  been  a maid  of  honour  or  something 
of  that  kind  ; and  Royalty  put  up  with  her  husband’s  eccentric  politics 
for  her  sake.  The  dinner  party  was  a little  slow.  For  one  reason, 
not  a word  was  said  about  politics ; and  just  at  that  moment  every- 
body was  interested  in  politics.  The  new  Administration  had  not  been 
quite  formed ; and  people  were  dying  to  know  who  was  to  have  this 
place  and  who  was  to  have  that.  But  Lady  Betty  went  in  resolutely 
for  bringing  all  sorts  of  politicians  together ; and  this  principle  necessi- 
tated neutrality  of  conversation  at  least  at  dinner.  There  were  several 
bitter  opponents  of  her  husband’s  principles  present;  and  besides,  it 
was  understood  that  Royalty,  just  then,  would  rather  not  hear  any- 
thing about  politics.  Enough  could  be  said  on  the  subject  when  the 
company  went  upstairs  and  the  guests  had  come  to  the  evening  party, 
and  the  rooms  were  filled,  and  talking  was  done  in  groups  or  tete-a-tete. 

One  of  the  guests  at  the  dinner-table,  the  new  American  Minister, 
stood  now  well  within  the  circle,  and  made  his  keen  and  slightly 
humorous  observations  on  living  London. 

There  had  been  some  trouble  that  day,  as  there  often  was  before 
a London  dinner  party,  in  settling  the  order  of  precedence  where  the 
American  Minister  was  concerned.  More  than  one  perplexed  hostess 
had  found  herself  compelled  late  on  the  afternoon  of  her  dinner  party 
to  send  in  breathless  haste  to  consult  high  official  authority  as  to  the 
place  which  ought  to  be  assigned  to  the  American  Minister  in  a pro- 
cession which  included  not  only  royal  personages — their  position  is 
fixed  as  fate — and  archbishops,  and  a cardinal,  and  a duke  or  two,  but 
also  the  jealous  ambassadors  of  great  European  powers,  and  several 
peers  of  yesterday’s  creation,  sensitive  to  the  quick  about  all  honour 
due  to  their  fire-new  titles. 

Mr.  Paulton  was  a very  handsome  and  stately  man;  so  tall  and 
commanding  that  he  threw  everybody,  Koyalty  included,  into  a sort  of 
insignificance.  He  had  been  a great  political  orator  in  his  day.  He 
was  now  falling  into  years — had  left  sixty  a good  way  behind ; but  yet 
stood  with  the  erectness  of  a tower,  and  could  endure  fatigue,  even 
the  fatigue  of  social  pleasure,  like  a boy.  Mr.  Paulton  was  new  to  the 
host  and  hostess  and  to  the  whole  affair.  That  is,  when  we  say  he 
was  new  to  the  host,  he  had  never  spoken  to  Morse  before,  but  he  had 
heard  of  him,  and  was  greatly  interested  in  him.  He  w7as  also  greatly 
interested  and  puzzled  by  the  manner  in  which  everybody  addressed 
the  illustrious  princess  as  “ ma’am.”  “ One  might  have  thought  we 
we  -were  all  talking  to  a New  England  school-marm,”  he  said  to  him- 
self. He  was  discreet',  and  said  nothing  on  the  subject  to  any  one  else, 
and  after  a while  found  himself  replying  to  some  gracious  inquiry  of 
Royalty7  with  the  word  “ma’am”  on  his  lips.  It  amused  him.  “1 
am  getting  on  in  court  wrays,”  he  thought.  “ I shall  presently  be 
denounced  in  some  of  our  papers  at  home  as  a minion  of  Royalty  and 
a court  sycophant.” 

Mr.  Paulton  was  intelligently  inquisxtive,  like  many  of  his  country- 
men, and  he  was  very  anxious  to  ask  a few  questions  about  men  and 


LADY  BETTY  MORSE . 


23 


paities.  He  was  glad  when  the  dinner  was  over  and  the  company  had 
all  gone  upstairs  and  the  rooms  were  thoroughly  well  filled.  After  he 
had  had  to  submit  to  many  formal  introductions,  he  found  himself 
happily  near  a good-looking,  pale,  slender  young  man,  whose  face  he 
had  observed  with  liking  at  the  dinner-table,  and  with  whom  he  had 
exchanged  some  agreeable  words.  He  got  into  conversation  with  this 
young  man,  and  asked  him  some  questions,  which  were  answered  with 
great  frankness  and  courtesy. 

“ Our  host  doesn’t  seem  to  be  much  put  out  by  the  fall  of  the 
Administration  he  belonged  to,”  the  American  Minister  ventured  to 
say.  And  he  glanced  towards  where  Morse  was  standing. 

Morse  looked  very  stately  and  dignified  as  he  entertained  his  guests. 
He  had  grown  somewhat  stouter  and  stronger-looking  than  when  we 
saw  him  last ; but  his  face  was  still  as  handsome  in  its  peculiar  way,  as 
striking  and  as  Napoleonic. 

“ I should  think  he  is  delighted,”  was  the  answer.  “ They  say  he 
wanted  to  get  out  of  it  long  ago.  He  is  an  ambitious  man,  and  he 
had  not  much  of  a chance  there,  I fancy.” 

“I  am  interested  in  him  particularly,”  the  American  Minister  said. 
“ You  know  he  was  in  the  States  for  a while,  and  was  making  a mark 
there  when  he  suddenly  went  back  right  away  to  England.  Well,  I 
suppose  he  liked  his  own  country  best.” 

“ He  didn’t  stay  there,  all  the  same.  He  went  out  to  one  of  the 
Australian  colonies,  and  got  to  be  at  the  head  of  an  Administration 
there ; and  then  he  threw  up  the  whole  affair  and  came  back  again  to 
England.  I was  out  in  the  Fiji  Islands  myself  afterwards,  and  I used 
to  hear  about  him.” 

Mr.  Paulton  looked  keenly  at  his  companion.  “Out  in  the  Fiji 
Islands ! ” he  repeated,  as  if  wondering  what  this  well-appointed 
person  had  been  doing  in  so  barbarous  a place.  “ Then  you  are  some- 
thing  of  an  outsider  in  this  sort  of  thing,  like  myself.  I shouldn’t 
have  guessed  it.” 

The  young  man  smiled.  His  smile  was  pleasant,  but  it  had  in  it 
something  abstract — vaguely  cynical.  He  did  not  reply  at  once.  His 
eyes  ranged  the  scene,  taking  in  everything — from  the  central  group, 
the  starry  nucleus,  to  the  somewhat  belated  hangers-on,  eagerly  strain- 
ing. 

“I  suppose  any  one  who  thinks  must  be  an  outsider  at  ‘this  sort  of 
thing,’  though  he  needn’t  be  so  in  the  ordinary  sense,”  was  his  reply. 
“ It  interests  me  to  look  on  at  this  whirl  of  London  society,  and  see 
the  poor  birds  rising  up  and  beating  their  wings,  knocking  all  the 
feathers  off,  some  of  them,  and  coming  down  very  much  the  worse  for 
their  pains.” 

The  American  laughed.  “ That’s  so.  Climbers,  eh  ! But  I should 
have  thought  most  of  them  here  to-night  belonged  naturally  to  the 
top.” 

“ Oh ! social  distinction,  place,  power ! It  all  comes  to  the  same,” 
returned  the  young  man.  “ If  people  would  only  work  the  whole 


24 


THE  RIGHT  HONOUR  ABLET 


thing  out  like  an  algebraical  problem,  the  man  who  bothered  himself 
to  find  x would  learn  that  be  bad  better  have  occupied  himself  with 
A and  B,  wThich  were  close  at  band.” 

“ I guess  if  Morse  is  a climber  he’ll  stay  in  England  this  time,”  the 
American  Minister  said,  with  a peculiar  gesture.  “ Quite  the  rising 
man,  is  be  not  ? ” 

“ Kisen  man,  I should  almost  say.  He  must  be  leader  of  a party. 
It  only  waits  for  him  to  form  a party  out  of  the  wreck  and  welter  of 
things  here.  He  seems  to  have  got  everything.  He  is**  rich,  through 
his  wife,  of  course,  and  she  adores  him.  She  is  a queen  of  society,  and 
every  one  adores  her.  We  tell  her  so,  and  she  doesn’t  mind ; it  doesn’t 
seem  to  spoil  her  one  little  hit.” 

“ He  ought  to  he  a happy  man — yet  he  don’t  look  like  it.” 

“ Think  not  ? Oh  yes ; he  is  very  happy.  He  delights  in  the 
great  political  game  he  is  playing ; and  his  wife  plays  the  social  game 
for  him  just  as  well,  or  better.” 

“ I have  got  a way  of  looking  at  faces,”  said  the  American,  “ and  I 
study  the  line  of  the  forehead  just  above  the  eyes  when  a man’s  face 
is  in  repose ; and  I find  it  tells  you  a good  deal.  Now,  there  is  some- 
thing depressed  and  melancholy  about  this  man.” 

The  young  man  looked  again  at  his  host.  Evidently  this  view  of 
Morse’s  character  had  not  occurred  to  him  before. 

“ I don’t  know  why  he  should  be  melancholy.  He  has  got  about 
all  he  wants,  I should  think.  He  says  very  clever  and  amusing 
things  in  his  speeches  sometimes.  No ; I shouldn’t  think  he  was 
melancholy ; a man  like  him  hasn’t  time  to  be.” 

“ Do  you  think  he  is  a sincere  man?”  the  American  asked,  in  his 
direct  way.  “ A sincere  man,  or  an  ambitious  man  merely  ? A 
statesman,  or  a politician — if  you  understand  how  we  Americans  use 
the  word  politician  and  the  sort  of  distinction  we  make.” 

“ In  that  sense  I should  say  a sincere  man,  certainty ; I am  sure  he 
believes  all  he  says.  But  I think  he  is  ambitious,  too.  I really  don’t 
know  him  very  well ; we  don’t  seem  to  hit  it  off  quite.  I don’t  think 
he  is  serious  enough  in  his  views  of  things.”  The  young  man  was  a 
little  embarrassed  now,  and  spoke  with  a winning  sort  of  diffidence. 

“ No  ? Not  serious  enough,  with  that  face  ? ” 

“ No ; not  in  my  way.  I think  a man  with  his  influence  over  the 
people — the  people  adore  him,  you  know — could  do  better  than  form 
political  combinations.  I think  he  ought  to  go  for  social  reform,  and 
for  trying  to  make  our  people  sober  and  good  and  believers  in  all 
that  is  good.  What  England  wants  is  moral  reformation — more,  much 
more,  than  political  reform.  Morse  does  not  see  this.  I think  that 
is  one  reason  why  we  don’t  suit  each  other.  I dare  say  it  is  my  fault ; 

I don’t  do  him  justice,  perhaps.  Every  man  must  have  his  own  way,” 
the  young  man  added  modestly. 

There  was  a moment’s  pause  in  the  conversation. 

“ What  kind  of  a party  would  Morse  be  likely  to  form,  do  you 
think  ? ” Mr.  Paulton  asked. 


LADY  BETTY  MORSE. 


25 

“ Something  very  radical ; democratic,  in  onr  English  sense  of  the 
word.  1 am  much  mistaken  if  Morse  has  not  set  his  heart  on  laying 
the  foundations  of  a regular  republican  party  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons ” 

“ Do  you  mean  that  he  would  undermine  the  throne  ? ” 

The  young  man  laughed.  “ They’ve  begun  to  do  that  already, 
haven’t  they?  They’re  undermining  the  House  of  Lords.” 

Together  and  involuntarily  both  the  speakers  glanced  in  the 
direction  where  Royalty  was  standing  in  the  midst  of  its  little  imme- 
diate circle.  This  was  a large  party  ; many  of  the  company  had  not 
been  brought  so  closely  within  the  influence  of  Royalty  before,  and 
the  influence  was  just  at  the  moment  a little  chilling.  That  was  not 
Royalty’s  fault ; Royalty  was  very  gracious,  and  knew  how  to  show 
its  graciousness.  Still,  to  those  who  are  not  quite  used  to  such  a 
presence  and  influence,  it  is  trying.  We  are  delighted  to  be  there,  of 
course.  Are  we  not  free  Britons  ? Do  we  not  rule  the  waves  ? — go 
to ; and  do  we  not  exult  in  being  brought  near  to  great  personages  ? 
But  the  joy  has  a certain  uneasiness  in  it.  It  is  a fearful  joy.  We 
may  not  be  doing  quite  the  right  thing ; Royalty  may  look  at  us  at 
the  wrong  time ; may  catch  us  in  something  awkward  ; may  smile  at 
us.  All  this  has  to  be  considered.  Ladies  were  being  presented  to 
Royalty  every  now  and  then,  and  were  ducking  down  to  the  carpet  in 
becoming  reverence.  Morse  was  standing  quite  near  Royalty  just  at 
the  moment  when  the  American  Minister  looked  round. 

“ I don’t  suppose  things  are  quite  ripe  for  that  with  you,”  he  said 
in  a low  tone.  “ It  is  hard  for  a stranger  to  understand  your  affairs  ; 
but  I shouldn’t  have  thought  there  was  the  least  chance  for  such  a 
party  as  that — if  it  really  means  to  knock  down  dummies.  I re- 
member very  well  the  saying  of  General  Prim,  after  he  had  turned  the 
Bourbons  out  of  Spain,  and  people  thought  he  was  going  to  set  up  a 
republic — I knew  General  Prim — ‘ You  can’t  have  a republic  without 
republicans,’  he  said.  Is  not  that  saying  applicable  to  England  ? ” 

“ Seems  a little  odd,  our  discussing  the  question  just  here  under  the 
very  eyes  of  H.R.H.  himself.  You  had  better  talk  to  Morse  about  it 
privately  some  time ; he  will  explain  his  views  much  better  than  I 
could.  I have  never  spoken  to  him  about  it.  I dine  here  often,  but 
he  doesn’t  talk  much  to  me.  I come  here  because  of  Lady  Betty. 
She  is  a cousin  of  mine,  and  I’m  very  fond  of  her.  I wish  she  hadn’t 
married  him.  I have  said  so  to  her,  and  a pretty  snubbing  I got,  I 
can  tell  you.” 

The  speaker  was  evidently  anxious  to  turn  away  the  talk  from 
politics  ; and  the  American  Minister  and  he  drifted  apart  soon  after. 
Mr.  Paulton  was  curious  to  know  the  name  of  the  very  agreeable 
person  with  wrhom  he  had  been  talking  so  freely.  He  asked  some  one 
who  happened  to  come  near  him  and  whom  he  knew  slightly. 

“ That  man  ? Oh,  that’s  Arden — Lord  Arden,  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Forrest.” 

46  Is  he  a remarkable  man  ? 

3 


26 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE . 


“Lord  Arden?  Well,  yes;  he  represents  a sort  of  new-fashioned 
school  in  society  and  politics.  He  is  a medigeval  Tory,  a stained-glass- 
attitude  reactionary,  who  goes  in  for  virtue,  temperance,  and  the 
working  man.” 

Lord  Arden  was  an  enthusiast.  He  was  one  of  the  young  apostles 
of  a new  school  of  purity.  He  believed  in  the  possibility  of  so  elevating 
the  standard  of  morality  in  modern  life  as  to  make  it  the  duty  of  man 
to  he  as  pure  as  the  duty  of  woman  is  always  declared  to  be.  It  was 
understood  that  he  made  his  own  life  confonn  strictly  to  this  principle ; 
and  there  was  a certain  unaffected  nobleness  of  manner  about  him 
which  prevented  even  men  of  the  world  from  laughing  or  sneering  at 
him.  He  was  the  idol  of  a great  many  women ; matrons  of  a devo- 
tional turn,  or  serious  girls  with  exalted  views  of  life.  He  was  the 
son  of  a shy,  eccentric  nobleman — a curious  figure  in  modern  society, 
for  he  seemed  to  belong  to  a far  past  time,  and  was  indeed  the  devotee, 
the  last  perhaps.  of  the  lost  Jacobite  cause.  Lord  Arden  had  some  of 
his  father’s  shyness,  but  very  little  of  his  eccentricity.  He  was  hand- 
some and  graceful ; he  dressed  well ; he  had  a sweet,  clear  voice ; he 
had  a great  deal  of  quiet  humour.  In  the  House  of  Commons,  he  was 
considered  one  of  the  best  speakers  among  the  younger  men  there ; 
and  he  was  already  a recognized  authority  on  many  social  questions, 
such  as  the  condition  of  the  artisan  population,  and  the  housing  of  the 
poor.  He  was  sincerely  devoted  to  the  various  beneficent  causes  which 
he  had  taken  up.  He  positively  spent  more  time  and  energy  in  doing 
good  than  most  other  young  men  of  his  class  spend  in  doing  harm. 
Lord  Forrest  was  intensely  fond  of  his  son ; and  proud  of  him  in  i 
half-melancholy  sort  of  way.  In  his  brighter  moods  it  pleased  him  to 
think  of  his  own  wasted  career  being  fulfilled  in  the  career  of  his  son. 

Arden  had  never  quite  liked  Morse.  For  one  reason,  perhaps, 
although  Arden  was  not  quite  conscious  of  being  now  influenced  by  it, 
he  had  rather  resented  Morse’s  becoming  the  husband  of  Lady  Betty. 
Lord  Arden  was,  as  he  had  told  Mr.  Paulton,  a cousin  of  Lady  Betty, 
and  was  very  much  attached  to  her ; not  at  all  in  a lover-like  way,  but 
with  a very  sincere  affection.  He  had  a good  many  caste  prejudices, 
though  he  would  not  have  owned  to  them.  He  thought  Morse  was 
not  good  enough  for  her;  was  not  the  sort  of  man  she  ought  to  have 
for  a husband.  Probably  he  would  have  held  the  same  opinion  about 
any  other  man  who  ventured  to  ask  Lady  Betty  to  marry  him.  But 
he  made  a handle  against  Morse  of  his  radical  politics  and  his  all  but 
revolutionary  theories  as  they  appeared  to  Arden.  Morse  was  in  fact 
a man  of  too  strong  a fibre  to  be  much  to  Lord  Arden’s  taste ; and 
then  Morse  had  no  belief  in  the  possibility  of  much  permanent  or  long- 
abiding  good  being  done  by  philanthropic  organizations  or  by  com- 
mittees for  the  promotion  of  virtue.  Morse  believed  in  regenerating 
society  by  making  men  independent,  by  giving  them  education,  and 
striving  to  open  a clear  way  for  all  by  the  abolition  of  class  distinctions. 
“ Loose  him,  and  let  him  go  ” was  the  principle  Morse  applied  to  man. 
He  had,  in  spite  of  himself,  a sort  of  contempt  for  Lord  Arden's  white- 


“AFTER  LONG  YEARS: 


27 


ribbon  brotherhoods,  and  did  not  believe  they  would  in  the  end  do 
anything  whatever  towards  the  purification  of  the  world.  Lord  Arden, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  all  for  men  concerning  themselves  about  their 
duties  rather  than  about  their  rights.  Lady  Betty  went  of  course 
openly  and  avowedly  with  her  husband,  and  took  his  views  of  the 
matter,  as  she  felt  bound  to  do;  but  in  her  heart  she  had  much  sym- 
pathy with  Arden’s  philanthropy,  and  with  his  dreams  of  manhood 
made  pure  through  the  influence  of  a social  organization,  a league,  and 
a ribbon. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

“ AFTER  LONG  YEARS.” 

Lady  Betty,  still  standing  near  the  doorway,  signalled  her  husband 
and  whispered  to  him  behind  her  fan,  which  was  a screen  of  dull  red 
ostrich  plumes  fastened  into  a jewelled  handle,  “ Sandham,  love,  I do 
want  your  help.  There’s  a colonial  agent-general  here — 1 forget  his 
name — Sir  Yesey  Plympton  sent  him  to  me  with  such  a letter  of 
introduction — and  he  has  such  a lovely  shy  little  beauty  of  a wife. 
They  have  just  come,  and  they  don’t  know  anybody,  and  she  can’t 
talk  to  dull  people — and  our  people  to-ni?ht  are  so  very  dull ! I want 
you  to  come  and  talk  to  him,  and  say  nice  things — very  nice  things, 
mind  ! — to  her.  Look  ! she  is  there,  cluse  to  old  Lady  Fotheringham. 
Good  gracious,  what  a contrast ! ” 

And  looking  in  the  direction  indicated  by  his  wife’s  words  Sandham 
Morse  saw  Koorali.  Changed,  indeed,  but  still  the  Koorali  he  had  seen 
and  bad  kept  in  his  mind — more  or  less,  less  perhaps  rather  than  more 
— outlined  against  the  grey  sky,  with  the  light  of  an  Australian  dawn 
upon  her  face.  How  did  she  look  now  ? Far  more  beautiful,  more 
developed;  her  face  even  more  expressive;  a child  of  nature  turned 
into  a contemplative  woman — a woman  who  had  lived,  who  had  had 
a life,  who  had  been  forced  by  fate  to  taste  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 

“ Isn’t  she  pretty  ? ” Lady  Betty  asked.  “ Do  you  know,  I think 
she  has  a look  of  me.” 

Yes ; there  was  a faint  resemblance.  It  struck  him  now,  struck 
him  curiously,  like  a breath  of  icy  wind,  like  a ghost  passing.  The 
height,  the  figure,  the  form  of  each  stag-like  head,  the  colour  of  the 
eyes.  But  there  it  ended.  Lady  Betty’s  quick,  sparkling  glances  had 
not  that  dreamy  far-seeing  kind  of  repose. 

A ghost ! Of  what  ? Of  a past  that  had  been  only  a shadow.  Of 
an  ideal  that  had  never  had  any  substance ; that  had  not  indeed 
presented  itself  definitely  to  his  imagination,  but  had  only  glided  by, 
thrilling  vague  suggestions  into  thoughts  for  a little  while,  and  then 
fading  in  to  less  than  a memory. 

It  was  strange,  this  flash  of  vivid  sensibility,  and  out  of  keeping 
with  his  surroundings  and  with  his  mood  of  a few  moments  before. 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE J 


28 

He  had  been  watching  his  wife,  admiring  her  beauty,  tact,  and  self- 
possession,  and  enjoying  the  sight  of  her  popularity.  He  had  paid  tho 
conventional  dues  with  almost  a sense  of  satisfaction.  He  had  too 
proper  an  appreciation  of  drama — of  any  kind — not  to  perform  even 
the  conventional  part  of  host  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

On  the  whole  he  had  been  very  happy,  in  his  way,  all  the  evening. 
The  course  of  recent  events  had  pleased  and  contented  him.  He  had 
been  sick  of  his  restricted  career  as  a member  of  a so-called  progressive 
government  which  was  not  progressing  in  anything,  and  it  was  an 
immense  relief  to  him  when  an  odd  combination  of  chances  had  come 
in  to  throw  it  over.  He  had  not  worked  against  it  in  any  conscious 
way,  he  had  not  really  ridden  for  a fall,  he  had  been  strictly  loyal  to 
his  chief  and  his  colleagues ; but  he  was  sincerely  rejoiced  when  the 
end  came,  regarding  it  as  the  end  of  a sham,  long  endurance  of  which 
would  be  for  him  an  impossibility.  He  had  a keen  sense  of  humour, 
and  had  been  amused  at  the  idea  of  a man  of  his  principles  entertaining 
Royalty  under  his  roof — for  his  ideas  and  principles  were  unfavourable 
to  Royalty  as  an  abiding  institution.  But  he  was  not  a pedant  even 
to  his  own  principles,  and  while  Royalty  lasted  he  was  quite  wulling 
that  it  should  last  and  have  all  appropriate  honours  paid  to  it.  Still, 
it  w^as  curious  how,  the  moment  he  saw  Koorali — of  whom,  to  say 
sooth,  he  had  not  been  thinking  much  of  recent  years — he  remembered 
her  childish  talk  about  sovereignties  and  republics. 

The  whole  scene  was  before  Morse  again  ; and  his  mind  went  back 
in  an  instant  to  all  the  memories  of  that  morning,  to  many  trivial 
circumstances  and  details — little  bits  of  conversation  and  sympathetic 
looks — forgotten  ever  since  then,  and  now  suddenly  brought  back  to 
fresh  and  living  reality  by  the  mere  sight  of  a woman  in  the  corner  of 
a room.  Does  one,  indeed,  ever  really  forget  anything?  Does  not  the 
most  evanescent,  or  seemingly  evanescent,  emotion  make  its  indelible 
impression  on  the  heart  and  on  the  memory,  wThich  it  needs  only  the 
touch  ol  the  right  influence  to  bring  into  vivid  outlines  once  again? 

Morse  remembered  in  a moment  Koorali’s  own  name ; but  he  had 
forgotten  the  name  of  her  husband,  whose  face  he  recognized.  He 
had  also  a dim  recollection,  now  burnished  up  by  the  same  process  of 
association,  a recollection  of  having  heard  that  Middlemist  had  married 
his  daughter  to  a young  member  of  the  Government,  a man  not 
politically  prominent  in  his  own  time,  but  whom  he  had  known  slightly, 
and  who  bad  left  an  un'avourable  impression  on  him — the  very  man, 
indeed,  whom  be  remembered  having  seen  near  her  on  board  the 
steamer  that  day. 

The  two  were  together  now.  Crichton  Ken  way  was  speaking  to 
Koorali,  and  he  had  the  look  which  a husband  sometimes  wears  when 
he  is  obliged  to  talk  to  his  wife  in  a large  assembly  because  no  one 
else  seems  to  desire  his  conversation.  Evidently  he  was  commenting 
upon  the  people  present,  and  she  was  listening  in  a preoccupied  way, 
as  though  he  had  not  said  anything  particularly  entertaining.  He 
did  not  lcok  the  sort  of  man  who  would  take  the  trouble  to  be  original 


“ AFTER  LONG  YEARS: 


for  his  wife’s  benefit,  though  there  was  a tinge  of  West  End  cynicism 
in  his  appearance.  Morse  observed  Koor&li’s  husband  with  an  interest 
strong  enough  to  make  him  quite  aware  of  a feeling  of  disappointment, 
even  before  he  remembered  who  the  man  was.  Why,  he  could  not 
have  said,  had  be  taken  the  trouble  to  analyze,  unless  it  were  that  his 
fancy  encircled  Koorali,  the  bright  wild -falcon  woman,  with  a poetic 
halo ; and  there  seemed  something  incongruous  in  this  mating  of  her 
with  a good-looking,  well-mannered  man  of  the  conventional  type — 
straight  features,  sleek  close-cropped  head,  blonde  moustache,  and  fault- 
less clothes,  all  complete — who  presumably  had  no  more  poetry  in  his 
constitution  than  nine  out  of  any  ten  husbands  entering  a London 
drawing-room  in  the  wake  of  a handsome  wife. 

Morse  was  obliged  to  admit,  however,  that  if  Kenway  was  conven- 
tional, he  could  not  be  called  commonplace.  His  long  lean  neck  saved 
him  from  the  stigma.  That  very  neck,  craning  now,  took  Crichton’s 
gaze  full  upon  an  Australian  magnate — Lady  Betty’s  Sir  Vesey  Plymp- 
ton — who  sheared  his  sheep  in  tens  of  thousands,  fattened  on  the 
traditions  of  a lately-acquired  historic  residence,  employed  paragraphists 
to  chronicle  his  doings  in  society,  and  patronized,  from  a sense  of  a 
duty,  such  colonial  small  fry  as  agents-general.  Crichton  moved  away 
to  speak  to  him,  and  at  that  moment  Morse  came  forward  and  caught 
Koorali’s  eye. 

A look  of  relief,  welcome,  and  unfeigned  delight  came  into  her  face. 
She  made  a graceful,  shy  movement,  with  both  hands  extended  for  an 
instant,  then,  as  if  checking  the  impulse,  let  one  fall,  and  gave  him 
the  other  in  a formal  greeting.  It  was  no  surprise  to  her  to  see  him. 
She  had  known  to  whose  house  they  were  coming.  She  had  only 
wondered  if  he  would  remember  her,  not  expecting  that  he  would,  yet 
feeling  a little  pang  when  she  found  that  he  did  not  notice  her.  She 
had  been  dazzled  by  Lady  Betty,  in  whom  she  felt  a peculiar  interest, 
and  she  had  watched  Morse  as  he  paid  his  homage  to  the  Royalties, 
and  did  the  honours  of  his  house,  realizing  what  an  important  person 
he  was,  noting  the  look  of  dignity  and  of  conscious  power  which  had 
deepened  in  him,  and  marvelling  that  she  still  felt  the  thrill  of  sympathy 
which  had  seemed  so  natural — though  it  was  so  wonderful  now — when 
she  had  sat  by  his  side  on  the  steamer  deck,  and  chattered  to  him  of 
her  puny  world. 

The  thoughts  of  both  travelled  swiftly  and  met  like  the  clasped 
hands. 

“ Koorali.  Little  Queen ! ” he  said.  He  could  not  tell  why  the 
words  came  to  his  lips.  He  could  not  think  of  any  others.  He  could 
not  see  her  as  a married  woman,  as  the  wife  of  Mr.  Anybody.  He 
could  only  see  the  bareheaded  girl  of  the  Australian  morning,  whom 
Judge  O’Beirne  had  called  “ The  Little  Queen.”  It  was  as  if  a ghost 
had  passed  by  her,  too.  An  indefinable  change  came  into  her  face, 
lasting  a second  only,  but  touching  him  to  the  quick.  He  had  struck 
a plaintive  chord.  The  keynote  of  her  life  was  a sad  one.  He  knew 
it  by  a divining  instinct  that  darted  straight  from  him  to  her,  and  wer  t 


3° 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


down  to  the  very  root  of  things.  It  bewildered  him  an  instant.  He 
said,  confusedly,  “ I forgot.  Time  seems  so  short.  A meeting  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ocean  may  he  like  yesterday;  and  yet  a whole  ocean 
of  experience  lying  between.” 

“Judge  O’Beirne  is  dead,”  she  said  simply.  “He  died  not  long 
after — after  my  father  became  Premier.  And  then,”  she  added,  with 
rather  a pathetic  smile,  “ people  soon  forgot  to  call  me  by  that  foolish 
pretty  name.” 

“ Even  the  pilots  ? ” asked  Morse.  “ Surely  they  were  faithful  to 
their  allegiance.” 

“ Oh,”  she  answered,  “ I didn’t  go  back  to  Muttabarra  till  I had 
been  married  a long  time.” 

“ You  married V ” Her  straight  look  forbade  polite  evasions. 

“ 1 married  Mr.  Kenway — Crichton  Kenway.  He  was  Postmaster- 
General  in  my  father’s  Ministry — twice.  Now  they  have  made  him 
Agent-General  for  South  Britain.” 

“ I think  I heard — I ought  to  have  kept  pace  better  with  colonial 
affairs — but  the  truth  is  that  the  times  have  been  marching  fast  in 
England  ; and  so  I suppose  that  I have  lost  touch  a little  of  Australia.” 

“ Ah  ! 99  said  Kooraii.  “ I understand  why  South  Britain  seemed 
such  a little  place  to  you,  though  I thought  it  so  big — then.  You  are 
a great  man  now  in  the  great  world.” 

She  looked  at  him  intentty  as  she  spoke  quickly  but  in  a low  tone. 
She  was  thinking  of  the  part  he  played  in  that  England  which  was 
now  the  greatest  conceivable  world  to  her.  She  was  not  awe-stricken 
by  him ; but  only  deeply  interested.  She  was  not  wondering  what 
memory  he  had  of  her,  but  only  absorbed  in  her  memory  of  him  and 
of  herself.  Of  the  two,  the  Australian  girl  had  the  better  of  it. 
Kooraii  was  not  in  the  least  embarrassed  or  conscious ; Morse  was  like 
one  who  is  labouring  to  speak  of  common  things  while  his  mind  is  in 
reality  trying  to  find  the  track  of  some  long-forgotten  or  half-forgotten 
idea. 

There  was  a rift  in  the  crowd.  Crichton  Kenway  had  left,  or  had 
been  dropped  by,  Sir  Yesey  Plympton,  and  was  seen  approaching  his 
wife.  Morse’s  eye  fell  upon  him. 

“I  think  that  I had  the  honour  of  knowing  your  husband  in 
Australia,”  he  said,  and  held  out  a hand  of  formal  welcome  to  Kenway. 
“I  am  very  glad  to  renew  our  acquaintance,  Mr.  Kenway.  I con- 
gratulate you  on  your  important  position;  and  still  more,  ever  so 
much  more,  on  your  marriage.” 

Kenway,  while  he  acknowledged  the  greeting,  gave  a sudden  furtive 
Look  at  Morse.  He  was  wondering  whether  Morse  meant  sincere  con- 
gratulation, and  whether  he  really  was  taken  with  Kooraii  and  thought 
her  attractive  and  presentable.  Kenway  was  one  of  those  men  who 
only  admire  through  the  admiration  of  some  one  else.  The  price  he 
set  on  anything  was  the  price  somebody  else  would  have  paid  for  it. 
He  was  curious  to  know  whether  Morse,  the  successful  English  states- 
man, the  man  to  whom  all  eyes  in  England  were  turned  just  now  in 


“ AFTER  LONG  YEARS * 


31 

expectancy  and  curiosity,  Morse,  the  husband  of  Lady  Betty,  could 
really  have  seen  something  to  admire  in  Koorali. 

“ Your  wife — I mean  Lady  Betty  Morse  ” — he  said,  in  his  clear, 
shrillish  voice,  “ has  been  kind  enough  to  offer  to  call  on  Mrs.  Kenway. 
May  I hope  that  you  will  also  kindly  honour  her  with  a call — some 
time  ? ” 

Koorali  had  not  the  least  idea  whether  it  was  or  was  not  the  custom 
of  English  society  for  statesmen  to  waste  their  time  in  calling  on 
women ; but  she  felt  as  if  Kenway  ought  not  to  have  made  such  a 
request  of  Morse.  She  said  quietly — 

“ Dear  Crichton,  men  like  Mr.  Morse  don’t  make  calls  of  that  kind, 
I am  sure.  I don’t  expect  it.  You  haven’t  time,  Mr  Morse,  to  make 
calls  on  everybody.” 

“ I don’t  make  calls  on  everybody,”  Morse  said ; “ hut  you  are  not 
everybody.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I shall  certainly  make  an  early  call 
on  you.  I want  to  talk  to  you  of  all  sorts  of  things.  I want  to  ask 
you  about  my  old  friends  in  South  Britain ; I want  to  hear  from  you, 
Mr.  Kenway,  about  all  your  movements  out  there.” 

Ken  way  had  some  cut-and-dried  remarks  to  make  upon  the  political 
aspect  of  South  Britain.  Morse  listened  in  silent  attention,  but  his 
«yes  strayed.  Presently  Lord  Arden  came  up  to  his  host. 

“ Lady  Betty  sent  me  to  you,  Mr.  Morse.  I believe  the  Prince  and 
Princess  are  going.” 

Morse  introduced  Lord  Arden  to  Koorali.  “ I shall  find  you  again, 
Mrs.  Ken  way,”  he  said,  as  he  moved  away. 

“ I think  I know  some  relations  of  yours,  Mrs.  Kenway,”  began  the 
young  man,  in  his  easy  abrupt  way.  “ I met  them  just  lately  abroad. 
They’re  going  to  live  in  our  county — Lady  Betty’s  county,  I should 
say.  Hasn’t  your  husband  a place  in  it  ? ” 

“ Ah ! My  little  hunting-box,  the  Grey  Manor,”  said  Kenway  in 
an  off-hand  manner  which  did  not  somehow  strike  true.  “ Bur  you 
are  thinking  of  the  Priory-by-the- Water,  the  place  my  people  lived  in 
for  generations.  Unfortunately,  however,  the  place  passed  away  from 
my  family  before  I became  its  representative.  My  younger  brother 
has  lately  bought  it  back.  It  was  probably  that  brother — Eustace — 
and  his  wife  whom  you  met  abroad.” 

“ Exactly,”  returned  Lord  Arden.  “ Your  brother  I met  for  the 
first  time.  I knew  Mrs.  Eustace  Kenway  very  slightly  last  year, 
when  she  was  Miss  Gilchrist,  and  I was  surprised  to  come  across  her 
as  a bride.  Your  brother  is  to  be  congratulated;  and  you  also,  Mrs. 
Kenway.” 

“We  have  only  been  a short  time  in  England,”  said  Koorkli.  “I  am 
almost  a stranger.  I do  not  know  my  sister-in-law  yet.” 

“You  will  take  to  her.  Unlike  most — ” Arden’s  slight  pause  was 
perceptible — “ most  women  who  have  a lot  of  money,  she  is  perfectly 
downright  original  and  unaffected.  I hear  that  she  has  set  about 
restoring  the  Priory-by-the- Water  in  magnificent  style.  We  shall 
have  one  cause  of  complaint  against  her,  however.  I am  told  that  in 


3- 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


her  ardour  for  reform  she  has  begun  by  scraping  the  outside  of  the 
fine  old  house — our  dear  time-worn  stone  of  the  Midlands.  Mrs. 
Ken  way,  you  should  stop  it.  You  don’t  look  like  a person  who  could 
calmly  see  barbarities  perpetrated.” 

Kenway  laughed  a little  uneasily.  He  seemed  glad  of  the  diversion 
occasioned  by  the  departure  of  the  Royalties.  The  conversation 
dropped,  and  presently  they  lost  Lord  Arden.  The  crowd  seemed  to 
thicken  as  people  moved  about  more  freely.  The  oppression  of  great- 
ness had  been  heavy.  It  was  now  as  if  a burden  had  been  lifted,  a 
strain  relaxed.  Tired  dowagers  could  at  last  sit  down  and  take  their 
rest.  The  party  broke  up  very  soon.  Lady  Betty’s  parties  on  off- 
nights  at  the  House  were  always  early.  Morse  had  not  returned  to 
the  drawing-room.  Kenway,  roving  curiously  round,  saw  him  in  one 
of  the  inner  rooms  in  close  conversation  with  a young  diplomatist,  an 
envoy  from  a great  foreign  State,  sent  specially  over  to  settle — some  said 
to  unsettle — a serious  question  in  dispute  with  England.  He  had  be^n 
pointed  out  to  Kenway ; he  was  one  of  the  lions  of  the  season.  He 
was  quite  a young  man,  handsome,  with  small,  full,  silky  brown  beard, 
and  a sweet  smile.  He  was  bamboozling  the  English  Gfovernment., 
people  said. 

Ken  way  wondered  why  Morse  should  be  so  deep  in  conversation 
with  the  Special  Envoy.  “Gan  he  be  putting  him  up  to  dodges  to 
worry  the  fellows  now  in  office?”  he  thought.  Ken  way  wa9  very 
carious,  and  believed  himself  very  observant.  He  was  very  observant ; 
but  one  may  be  quick  to  observe  and  draw  wrong  conclusions.  The 
monkey  might,  with  the  catspaw  of  observation,  draw  out  sometimes 
a cinder  instead  of  a chestnut. 

Koorali  attracted  no  further  attention,  and  Ken  way,  dissatisfied  and 
a little  peevish,  took  her  away.  The  Americans  still  held  the  position, 
he  ruefully  reflected.  Clearly,  Australian  beauty  had  not  yet  risen  in 
the  market. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 

It  was  a picturesque  and  a pretty  sight.  Lady  Betty  was  sitting  in  a 
low  chair  near  the  hearth.  On  the  hearthrug,  quite  close  to  her,  young 
Lenny  had  flung  himself  down.  He  was  at  her  feet;  and,  with  his 
head  partly  turned  round,  he  was  looking  up  into  her  face  with  eyes 
full  of  admiration  and  devotion.  Her  hand  was  resting  tenderly  on 
the  boy’s  hair,  which  she  was  touching  with  a sort  of  caress.  She  was 
very  fond  of  Lenny,  her  “ pretty  page.”  He  was  devoted  to  her.  Per- 
haps with  her  tender  feeling  for  him  there  was  mingled  the  sense  of 
regret  that  she  was  childless ; that  no  boy  of  her  own  would  ever  stretch 
himself  at  her  feet  and  look  up  to  her  with  love  and  reverence. 

It  was  a pretty  sight.  So  Morse  thought  as,  returning  after  taking 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE . 


33 

leave  of  his  last  guest,  the  young  Special  Envoy,  he  stopped  for  a 
moment  on  the  threshold  of  the  drawing-room  and  looked  on  at  the 
two — the  young  childless  wife  and  the  boy.  A deep  feeling  of  sadness, 
perhaps  rather  of  dissatisfaction,  came  into  his  mind,  however;  and  if 
men  were  really  in  the  habit  of  sighing,  as  they  do  in  bocks,  Morse 
would  have  sighed.  Partly  he  felt  for  the  childless  wife;  partly,  too, 
his  feeling  was  for  himself — not  a selfish  feeling,  but  yet  a feeling  for 
himself.  No  thought  of  jealousy,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word, 
could  have  come  into  his  mind.  Even  if  Lenny  had  not  been  so 
young,  a mere  boy  in  fact,  he  could  have  had  no  possible  feeling  of 
that  kind.  The  sweet  purity  of  Lady  Betty’s  nature  would  not  have 
allowed  a very  Leontes  of  a husband  to  admit  such  a suspicion.  But 
Morse  found  it  brought  home  to  his  inmost  consciousness  that  he  was 
not  all  in  all  to  his  wife.  A certain  tender  frivolity  in  her  tempera- 
ment seemed  to  make  an  atmosphere  around  her  in  which  he  could  nut 
breathe.  She  loved  to  be  amused,  and  to  he  amused  with  novelties ; 
and  Lenny’s  open  devotion  was  as  a new  toy  to  her. 

Morae  remained  on  the  threshold  only  for  a moment,  then  he  came 
into  the  room.  Lady  Betty  looked  up  to  him  with  welcoming  eyes. 
She  still  kept  her  hand  on  Lenny’s  hair,  and  Lenny  remained  in  his 
attitude  of  affection  and  devotion. 

“ Come,  Sandham,  dear,”  she  said,  “ sit  down  somewhere,  and  let  us 
talk  for  a moment  before  this  boy  goes  home.  What  will  your  mother 
say  to  me,  Lenny,  for  letting  you  stay  here  so  long?” 

“ Oh,  she  won’t  mind,”  Lenny  said.  “ And  I like  to  stay  for  a bit 
when  everybody  else  has  gone.  I say,  Mr.  Morse,  1 wish  you  would 
take  me  for  your  private  secretary.  Won’t  you  prevail  on  him,  Lady 
Betty  ? He’ll  do  anything  you  ask  him.” 

“ Will  he,  indeed?”  Lady  Betty  asked,  with  a smile.  “ Well,  yes; 
I really  believe  he  would;  anything  reasonable,  Lenny — as  long  as 
I don’t  interfere  with  his  pet  theories — and  I don’t  mind  them.  But 
yon  are  not  quite  old  enough,  dear  boy,  to  be  a great  public  man’s 
secretary  just  yet ; now  are  you  ? ” 

“ Well,  but  when  I am  grown  up  ? ” 

“ When  you  are  grown  up,  Lenny,”  Morse  said,  with  the  peculiarly 
winning  smile  which  had  such  a charm  in  it,  “ I promise  you  I will 
take  you  for  my  private  secretary — if  you  ask  me  then” 

There  was  a melancholy  tone  in  his  words  which  neither  Lady  Betty 
nor  Lenny  noticed.  The  boy  leaped  up  from  his  position  of  prostrate 
devotion  and  clasped  Morse’s  hand  in  delight  and  gratitude. 

“ Come,  now,  I say,”  he  exclaimed,  “ you  are  such  a good  one.  Isn’t 
he  good,  Lady  Betty  ? ” 

“ I think  him  ever  so  good,”  Lady  Betty  declared,  and  she  turned  to 
her  husband  a quick  look  of  beaming  affection.  She  got  up,  too,  and 
stood  upon  the  hearth  in  front  of  the  great  bank  of  exotics  that  filled 
the  air  with  perfume.  She  unfurled  her  fan  as  if  she  were  thinking, 
and  she  looked  not  unlike  some  rich  exotic  flower  herself  in  her  robes 
of  Vein  tian  red. 


54 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


What  was  passing  through  Morse’s  mind  at  that  moment  whieh 
made  him  shrink  from  this  tribute  to  his  goodness  ? Did  he  not  fairly 
deserve  it  ? Alas,  the  truer  of  heart,  the  more  profoundly  conscien- 
tious, the  more  honourable  of  purpose  and  pure  of  soul  a man  is,  the 
more  likely  is  he  to  feel  every  now  and  then  some  strange  pang  of 
awakened  conscience.  In  Morse  there  was  a spirit  of  self-analysis 
which  is  never  in  itself  altogether  healthy.  Not  many  of  the  outer 
public,  not  many  even  among  his  own  associates  and  acquaintances, 
would  have  suspected  that  there  was  in  the  nature  of  that  strong, 
commanding  man,  who  seemed  always  to  walk  straightway  his  own 
road,  a sensitiveness  too  delicate,  too  easily  touched  and  hurt,  to  allow 
him  ever  to  be  entirely  happy. 

Lenny  went  home  after  a few  minutes  more  of  talk. 

“ That  child  gets  fonder  of  me  every  day,”  said  Lady  Betty.  “ Some 
one  suggested  that  I should  decorate  him  with  a badge.  I don’t  see 
why  the  teetotallers  should  have  the  monopoly  of  ribbons,”  she  went 
on,  in  her  pretty  inconsequent  manner.  “ Every  one  might  announce 
dieir  particular  line  in  that  way — white  for  the  virtuous,  pink  for  the 
worldlings,  red  for  the  vicious,  and  so  on.” 

“ The  white  ribbons  would  soon  get  soiled,  Betty.” 

“ Except  Lord  Arden’s ! I think,  however,  he  might  wear  a dash 
of  pink  too.  I’ll  institute  an  order  for  my  friends.  Talking  of  orders, 
Sandham,  it’s  funny,  isn’t  it,  that  the  most  prudish  country  in  the 
world  should  call  her  two  principal  ones  the  Bath  and  the  Garter  ? ” 
she  added,  with  a laugh. 

“ What  capital  spirits  you  have,  Betty.  You  don’t  seem  a bit  tired.” 
She  made  a little  gesture.  “ I can’t  return  the  compliment.  My 
good  spirits  are  reaction  after  the  strain  of  the  evening.  I was  in  an 
agony  lest  Masterson,  your  Socialist,  should  make  his  appearance,  and 
take  the  opportunity  of  hurling  the  gauntlet  at  Royalty.” 

“You  needn’t  have  been  afraid.  This  is  about  the  last  sort  of 
gathering  Masterson  would  attend.” 

“I  don’t  know.  One  expects  something  melodramatic  from  a 
Socialist.  He  came  once  to  my  ‘ Thursday  afternoon.’  I must  say, 
though,  that  he  didn’t  know  I received  on  that  day.  Did  I tell  you  ? 
Two  Cabinet  Ministers  and  Mr.  Masterson  were  announced  almost 
together.  I am  not  very  nervous,  you  know,  and  I like  a sensation — 
but,  after  Masterson’s  speech  about  revolution  and  hanging  a la  lan - 
feme ! My  dear,  the  triangular  conversation  was  too  funny.  For- 

tunately, Lenny  came  in,  and  threw  himself  into  one  of  his  picturesque 
attitudes  at  my  feet.  That  turned  off  the  explosion.  We  jumped 
backwards  into  the  Middle  Ages.  Isn’t  he  a sweet  boy,  Sandham?” 

“ Who  ? Lenny  ? Yes.  It  seems  almost  a pity  he  should  ever 

Morse  stopped. 

“ Ever  what,  dear  ? ” 

“ Ever  grow  up  to  be  a man.” 

“ You  gloomy  creature ! I wish  that  we  were  in  the  Middle  Ages— 
the  real  thing,  not  the  sesthetic  sham.  I hate  triptyches,  and  I can’t 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE . 


35 

adore  Botticelli.  Fd  make  Lenny  my  page.  I think  he  would  be  the 
very  ideal  of  a lady’s  page ; don’t  you,  Sandham  ? ” 

“ I think  he  would ; and  I think  you  would  be  the  very  ideal  of  a 
charming  chatelaine , Betty.”  Morse  looked  at  her  with  a sudden  thrill 
of  affectionate  tenderness.  Lady  Betty’s  eyes  sparkled  with  even  more 
than  their  usual  brightness ; and  she  almost  blushed.  Morse  seldom 
paid  a compliment  or  said  a pretty  thing. 

“ Come,”  she  said,  “ it  is  nice  to  hear  you  say  that.  You  don’t  often 
pay  compliments  to  your  wife,  Sandham.” 

“ Still  less  often  to  anybody  else,  Betty.” 

“Yes;  I know,”  she  went  on  gravely.  “Sometimes  I don’t  think 
it  would  be  any  the  worse  if  you  were  just  a little  more  of  a lady’s 
man,  Sandham;  it  looks  nice,  I think,  especially  in  a grave  sort  of 
statesman  like  you.  I shouldn’t  be  one  bit  jealous,  you  know.  That 
reminds  me — I hope  you  will  be  ever  so  attentive  to  my  sweet  shy 
Australian  beauty.  Isn’t  she  a little  beauty — with  her  sort  of  wild 
melancholy,  a kind  of  shrinking  look  in  her  eyes — like  a wild  animal,  I 
think.  She  will  be  a success ; she  will  take  London  society,  you’ll  find.” 
“ I don’t  think  so,  Betty.” 

“My  dear,  what  do  you  know  about  it?  Fancy  your  finding  time 
to  notice  what  goes  on  in  the  kind  of  silly  crowd,  the  ship  of  fools, 
that  we  women  call  society.  Yes;  she  will  be  greatly  admired.  I am 
going  to  do  all  I can  to  make  things  nice  for  her.” 

“ I am  glad  of  that,”  said  Morse,  with  a faint  hesitation.  “ I should 
like  you  to  be  kind  to  her,  Betty ; and  you  will  find  her  interesting.” 

“ I would  be  kind  to  any  one  you  asked  me  to  notice,”  said  Lady 
Betty  sweetly.  “ But  she  will  be  taken  up.  Her  very  strangeness 
and  shyness  will  be  an  attraction.  What  society  would  despise  in  a 
mere  provincial,  it  admires  in  an  American  or  colonial.” 

“ Quite  true,  Betty.  You  understand  your  public  well.  I only  hope 
you  and  your  society  won’t  spoil  her  among  you.”  After  a pause, 
Morse  said,  with  something  like  an  effort,  “ She  and  I are  old 
acquaintances,  Betty.” 

“ Yes,  so  I hear ; some  one  told  me.  Was  it  you,  or  she  ? ” 

“We  were  together  on  board  the  same  steamer  for  four  and  twenty 
hours.  That  was  the  only  time  I ever  saw  her.  Of  course,  she  was 
little  more  than  a child  then,”  Morse  added  hastily. 

“ Yes ; of  course.  Oh,  Sandham,  by  the  way — the  Prince  and 
Princess  were  very  nice  to  every  one  to-night,  don’t  you  think  ? ” 

“ They  always  are,  Betty.  They  were  very  gracious  to  me ; but 
they  don’t  much  like  me,  all  the  same,”  he  added,  with  a smile. 

“Well,  dearest,  they  don’t  much  like  your  political  goings-on, 
I suppose.  How  could  they?  The  Prince  rather  chaffed  me  about 
you  this  evening.  He  wanted  to  know  when  you  were  going  to  start 
your  red  republican  party,  and  try  to  set  aside  the  succession.  Of 
course,  he  wasn’t  serious.  But  I think  it  is  very  nice  of  them  to  be  so 
very  friendly  under  all  the  circumstances.” 

“ Friendly  to  you  and  me,  Betty  ? ” 


36 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .5 


“ Yes,  dear.” 

“ I fancy  they  put  up  with  me  for  the  sake  of  you,”  Morse  said. 
And  he  took  her  hand  in  his. 

“ I dare  say  there  is  something  of  that ; they  have  always  been  very 
kind  to  me.  But,  besides,  I don’t  believe  they  think  you  mean  any- 
thing very  dreadful,  you  know.” 

“ Dreadful  ? How  dreadful  ? ” 

“ Well,  anything  very  serious.” 

“ I am  very  serious,  Betty.” 

“ Indeed,  dearest,  you  are  awfully  serious  ; I mean  you  appear  so  to 
the  outer  world.  I find  it  hard  to  make  people  believe  that  you  are  so 
pleasant  and  boyish  with  me — sometimes.” 

“ And  what  do  you  think — you  yourself,  Betty — of  my  political 
goings-on,  as  you  call  them  ? ” 

“ Oh,  well,  Sandham,  I don’t  mind  them,  of  course.  I should  like 
anything  you  did,  and  think  it  all  right,  in  a way.  Besides,  it  is  ever 
so  much  more  picturesque,  and  interesting,  and  all  that,  to  be  a man 
with  new  and  odd  ideas — a distinct,  peculiar  figure,  don’t  you  know, 
than  just  to  be  the  ordinary  commonplace  Liberal  or  Tory.  I shouldn’t 
care  one  bit  to  be  the  wife  of  a commonplace  Liberal  or  Tory.  Oh  no ; 
it  is  very  charming  and  delightful  as  it  is.  I told  the  Prince  so  to-night. 
I told  him  I would  not  allow  you  to  be  a commonplace  sort  of  politician. 
And,  of  course,  I told  him  you  meant  no  harm  to  anybody  or  anything; 
but  that  a man  of  ideas  must  have  his  ideas,  don’t  you  know  ? I 
couldn’t  endure  a man  who  hadn’t  ideas.  One  might  as  well  be  married 
to  a woman.” 

They  were  still  standing  on  the  hearthrug,  about  to  leave  the  room. 
Morse  took  her  hand  again  in  his,  and  said  gravely — 

“ Betty,  suppose  my  ideas  and  my  political  goings-on  were  to  end 
in  making  me  detested  by  society ; and  even  making  you  not  so  much 
of  a favourite  as  you  are — how  would  that  be  ? ” 

“ But,  dear,  how  could  that  be  ? Of  course  it  couldn’t  be.  You 
wouldn’t  have  anything  to  do  with  any  goings-on  that  were  not  all 
right;  and  fancy  your  doing  anything  that  could  make  people  not  like 
me!  It’s  absurd!” 

“There  are  some  terrible  evils  in  society,  all  round  us,  Betty.  You 
see  them  yourself.” 

“ Do  I not  ? Do  I not  always  say  so  ? ” Lady  Betty’s  eyes  became 
earnest.  “ The  dreadful  poverty,  and  sin,  and  crime  ? Don’t  I always 
say,  Sandham,  that  we,  the  rich,  are  not  doing  one  half,  one  quarter, 
what  we  might  do  to  make  the  poor  around  us  more  happy  ? I try  to 
do  all  I can ” 

“ Indeed,  you  do.  Ho  woman  in  London  does  more,  and  more  faith- 
fully and  generously,  Betty,  in  that  kind  of  way.  But  you  know, 
dear,  I don’t  believe  much  is  to  be  done  in  that  wav.  Even  your  own 
incessant  benevolence  and  charity — well,  I fancy  it  does  more  good 
to  your  own  sweet  nature  and  your  own  soul,  my  dear,  than  it  does 
always  for  those  who  feel  its  material  benefit.” 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 


37 

Lady  Betty,  truth  to  say,  was  sometimes  liable  to  giving  her  kind- 
nesses away  to  the  wrong  p rson. 

“ Yes ; I know  I make  mistakes  now  and  then/’  she  said,  with  a 
winsome  smile  and  a still  more  winsome  blush.  “ One  can’t  help 
making  a mistake  sometimes..  But  1 mean  to  become  ever  so  much 
more  wise  and  circumspect.  'And  if  I do  encourage  undeserving 
poverty  sometimes — well,  anyhow,  I don’t  think  I fulfil  my  steward- 
ship as  badly  as  those  wise  magistrates  who  imprison  with  hard  labour 
the  men  who  go  bawling  about  the  streets,  ‘Drink  is  the  curse  of  man, 
the  Lord  deliver  us  from  drink,’  and  inflict  a small  fine  on  the  landlord 
who  grinds  a living  out  of  the  disease  and  degradation  of  his  fellow- 
creatures.  There  1 A crib  out  of  one  of  your  own  speeches,  Sandham. 
Don’t  say  I never  read  them.” 

A change,  very  slight,  but  still  to  be  noticed,  came  over  Morse’s  face. 
The  eyes  seemed  to  deepen,  and  the  features  to  become  more  impassive. 
There  was  a tone  in  his  voice  as  he  answered  like  that  in  which  he 
might  address  a child. 

“Never  mind,  Betty;  don’t  try,  then,  to  be  wise  and  circumspect.  Go 
on  with  your  work  in  your  own  way ; it  can’t  fail  to  do  some  good  to 
somebody.  But  I want  to  try  to  get  bad  systems  put  to  rights ; I 
fancy  that  is  my  work  in  this  world,  if  I have  any  work  at  all  to  do.” 

“ You  think  there  ought  to  be  a new  organization  of  all  our  charitable 
institutions?”  Lady  Betty  asked,  with  eager  eyes.  “I  do,  too.  I 
quite  agree  with  Lady  Meloraine  on  that.  Then,  you  are  with  us  ? 
That  is  just  what  we  want.  How  I wish  I had  known  ; I could  have 
told  the  Princess  to-night.” 

“ I want  a new  organization  of  ever  so  many  institutions,  Betty,  as 
well  as  of  your  charities ; and  I don’t  think  your  explanation  would 
have  quite  satisfied  the  Princess.  Never  mind,  dear ; we  must  only 
do  the  best  we  can,  each  of  us.” 

“ But  if  you  would  only  help  us,”  Lady  Betty  said  earnestly,  her 
mind  still  occupied  only  with  the  idea  of  the  reorganization  of  certain 
charitable  institutions  which  Lady  Meloraine  and  she  were  advocating, 
“ Lady  Meloraine  would  be  so  delighted;  and  the  Princess,  of  course. 
But  we  thought  you  never  had  time  to  give  any  thought  to  things  of 
that  kind.” 

“I  shall  always  find  or  make  time  to  give  you  the  best  advice  I can 
on  anything  that  interests  you,  Betty.” 

He  thought  it  of  no  use  to  make  any  further  development  of  his 
political  ideas  just  then,  and  was  glad  to  put  away  the  subject,  into 
which  he  had  gone  somewhat  impulsively. 

“ How  very  sweet  of  you,  dear.  But  you  are  always  so  good  to  me, 
Sandham.” 

“ I shall  be  so  good  to  you  now,  child,  as  to  send  you  off  to  your  bed. 
I have  a few  things  to  look  up  yet;  and  some  memoranda  to  make.” 

“I  wish  you  would  take  more  sleep;  I wish  you  would  take  more 
care  of  yourself.  Well,  I confess,  I am  sleepy ; and  I am  to  be  up 
rather  early  to-morrow.” 


33 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


She  kissed  him  and  went  upstairs. 

Morse  went  into  his  study,  where  a light  was  burning.  The  study 
was  on  the  ground  floor,  and  opening  out  of  it  was  a bedroom  which 
he  usually  occupied  during  the  sitting  of  Parliament,  and  at  any  othei 
time  when  he  was  likely  to  be  late  and  desired  at  once  to  be  inde- 
pendent and  not  to  disturb  anybody. 

It  was  a comfortable  room,  though  not  especially  luxurious,  and 
Lady  Betty  had  begged  in  vain  to  be  allowed  to  transport  to  it  some 
of  her  rare  china  and  art  treasures.  Books  lined  three  sides  of  it  to 
within  a few  feet  of  the  ceiling,  and  above  the  oak  cases  were  trophies 
— American  and  Australian  — calumets,  mocassins,  buffalo-horns, 
boomerangs,  nulla-nullas,  and  other  native  weapons.  A solemn  grey 
bird,  a stuffed  native  “ companion,”  perched  as  uncannily  as  Poe’s 
raven  above  its  owner’s  particular  chair.  The  low  deep  sofa  was 
covered  with  an  opossum  rug.  Above  the  mantel-piece  hung  an  oil 
painting  of  a winter  scene  upon  which  the  sun  had  gone  down — a long 
flat  stretch  of  landscape,  snow-covered,  with  a straight  road  reaching 
to  the  horizon,  and  a clump  of  gnarled  willows  in  the  foreground. 
The  sky  was  grey  and  cloudy,  except  for  the  gleam  which  the  sun  had 
left ; it  was  cold,  dreary,  desolate,  yet  curiously  weird  and  suggestive. 
The  only  other  pictures  in  the  room  were  some  rough  sketches  of  bold 
Australian  coast  scenery,  and  these  hung  over  the  writing-table. 

Morse  tried  to  settle  himself  down  to  a little  work  in  the  way  of 
reading  letters  and  memoranda.  His  habit  was  to  read  over  a number 
of  letters  each  night  in  this  way,  and  make  short  notes  on  each  of  the 
sort  of  answer  to  be  given  to  it.  These  he  left  for  his  secretary,  who 
came  early  in  the  morning  and  disposed  of  them  without  further 
troubling  Morse.  Correspondence  of  a more  important  and  momentous 
character  Morse  kept  for  fuller  consideration.  There  were  many  letters 
which  he  always  replied  to  himself,  and  which  did  not  come  under  the 
eyes  of  his  secretary.  There  were  letters,  too,  of  a more  purely  social 
order,  which  he  always  handed  over  to  Lady  Betty,  who  disposed  of 
them  along  with  her  own  vast  mass  of  miscellaneous  correspondence, 
To-night  Morse  did  not  feel  much  in  the  humour  for  reading  letters. 
His  mind,  somehow,  would  not  fix  itself  on  their  details.  Many  things 
had  happened  that  night  to  set  him  thinking.  Suppose  his  projects 
should  fail,  how  would  the  failure  affect  his  wife,  with  her  sweet  bright 
nature,  her  beneficence,  her  delight  in  society,  her  unaffected  devotion 
to  the  great  personages  whom  she  loved,  her  desire  for  everything  to 
go  so  nicely  and  every  one  to  be  happy  ? Suppose  even  the  projects 
to  succeed,  how,  still,  would  it  be  with  her  ? Would  it  have  been 
better  if  he  had,  after  all,  remained — in  Australia  ? 

When  he  got  to  this  thought,  he  jumped  up  and  would  have  no 
more  of  that.  “ I have  done  right;  I am  doing  right,”  he  said  to  him- 
self. “ I have  a duty  to  do  to  this  country  which  I love;  I can  do 
something  for  her  people  ; I am  not  wrong.” 

Then  he  went  resolutely  at  his  letters  again.  Two  especially 
interested  him,  now  that  he  had  put  away  all  thoughts  of  other  things. 


WIFE  AND  HUSBAND. 


39 


The  seal  of  one  bore  the  coronet  of  an  earl;  the  other  had  a resolutely 
democratic  brotherhood  of  man  and  social  equality  about  it,  with  its 
thick  aggressive  blue  paper  and  the  clear  hand  he  well  knew.  He 
opened  this  one  first. 

“ Dear  Morse,”  it  said,  “you  told  me  I might  see  you  soon  at  any 
time.  I will  take  my  chance,  and  come  at  eleven  to-morrow.  I must 
speak  to  you.  The  time  is  fast  coming,  and  I claim  you  as  the  man  ; 
you  must  be  with  us.”  The  letter  was  signed,  “ Stephen  Masterson.” 

“ Poor  fellow  ! ” Morse  said. 

The  other  letter  was : “ Lord  Forrest  presents  his  compliments  to 
Mr.  Morse,  and  will  be  happy  to  accord  to  Mr.  Morse  at  noon  to- 
morrow the  interview  which  Mr.  Morse  has  honoured  him  by  request 
ing.” 

“Come,  that  is  something  at  least,”  Morse  said.  “Not  much  will 
come  of  it,  but  he  will  see  me,  and  we  shall  have  left  no  stone  unturned.** 

The  two  letters  lay  side  by  side,  and  the  fact  struck  Morse  as  curious. 
He  had  much  humour  in  him,  and  could  stop  now  and  then  to  be 
amused  by  the  mere  oddities  of  life.  “ Side  by  side,”  he  thought, 
“ these  two  letters  on  the  same  subject — from  the  extremest  demagogue 
and  the  last  Jacobite  peer;  the  two  irreeoncilables ; the  one  just  as 
hopeless,  as  unmanageable,  as  single-minded,  as  pure  of  purpose,  as  the 
other.” 


CHAPTEK  VL 

WIFE  AND  HUSBAND. 

Crichton  Kenway  and  his  wife  drove  home  almost  in  silence  from 
Lady  Betty  Morse’s  party.  They  had  not  very  far  to  go.  Sandbam 
Morse  lived  at  the  lower  end  of  Park  Lane,  and  the  house  which 
Kenway  had  taken  and  furnished  was  in  one  of  the  small  streets  that 
lie  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  Belgravian  region.  It  was  too  much  on 
the  outskirts  to  please  Crichton  Kenway,  who  was  a person  with  a 
clearly-defined  social  ambition,  but  it  had  the  advantage  of  being 
within  easy  reach  of  Victoria  Street  and  the  row  of  buildings  devoted 
principally  to  the  offices  of  agent s-general  for  the  colonies,  and  the 
perhaps  greater  advantage  of  being  not  too  outrageously  beyond  his 
means. 

Crichton  Ken  way  found  great  difficulty  in  living  within  his  means, 
not  so  much  because  he  was  given  to  thoughtless  and  lavish  outlay, 
as  because  he  had  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  importance  of  money 
and  the  site  of  one’s  house  as  a means  of  social  distinction.  He  was 
in  some  ways  almost  parsimonious,  and  was  annoyed  if  he  did  not  get 
to  the  full  his  money’s  worth.  He  would  grumble  at  the  needless 
expenditure  of  a shilling,  though  to  serve  an  object  he  would  launch 
into  a style  of  living  utterly  disproportionate  to  his  income.  If,  how- 
ever, he  did  not  gain  his  object  he  felt  himself  defrauded,  and  was  far 


40 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE » 


from  taking  the  loss  philosophically.  He  disliked  to  be  thought  poor, 
and  to  cut  a less  imposing  figure  than  his  neighbours.  He  was  fond 
of  his  personal  comfort,  and  could  never  practise  small  economies  wThen 
that  was  in  question.  Thus  it  happened  that  his  impulses  were  often 
at  war.  He  suffered  from  the  horror  and  inconvenience  of  debt  as 
keenly  as  the  most  prudent  of  economists,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
was  forced  to  live  face  to  face  with  it,  and  had  none  of  the  capacity 
for  reckless  enjoyment  of  the  day  without  regard  to  the  morrow  which 
characterizes  the  born  Bohemian  or  the  well- trained  Rawdon  Crawley. 

He  was  not  in  an  amiable  mood  this  evening.  He  had  been  very 
proud  of  having  compassed  an  invitation  to  Lady  Betty  Morse’s  recep- 
tion, for  he  understood  that  she  was  a leader  of  society,  and  that  she 
was  married  to  a prominent  member  of  the  late  Government ; but, 
after  all,  he  had  not  found  himself  far  advanced  up  the  social  ladder, 
for  he  knew  hardly  any  of  the  smart  people  who  were  there.  Nobody 
paid  any  attention  to  him,  and  though  there  was  a satisfaction  in 
being  within  a few  yards  of  Royalty,  he  did  not  see  that  practically 
the  fact  could  be  of  much  service  to  him.  There  was  a faint  consola- 
tion in  the  reflection  that  Morse  had  talked  for  some  time  to  Koorkli, 
but  it  was  evident,  that  neither  Morse  nor  Lady  Betty  had  thought 
her  worth  making  a fuss  about.  They  had  not  introduced  to  her  any 
of  the  be-ribboned  men,  or  brought  her  to  the  notice  of  the  great 
ladies ; and  KoorMi  had  not  shown  to  advantage  in  the  brilliant 
assemblage.  She  had  looked  pale,  odd,  a little  scared,  he  thought. 
Her  dress  was  not  right.  She  had  not  that  indescribable  air  of  fashion 
which  belongs  to  the  typical  London  woman.  Even  her  jewels — 
which  had  lately  come  to  her  by  the  will  of  a maiden  aunt  of  Ken- 
wav’s,  from  whom  he  had  had  but  poorly  realized  expectations,  and 
which  had  afforded  to  the  husband  and  wife  some  innocent  gratifica- 
tion— looked  poor  beside  the  magnificent  necklaces  and  tiaras  that 
abounded  in  the  room.  She  had  shown  no  animation,  no  ease,  no 
power  of  self-assertion.  She  would  certainly  not  take  the  world  by 
storm.  He  had  believed  in  her  reputation  for  beauty  and  originality. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  in  the  colonics  she  had  been  thought  a great 
deal  of,  and  every  one  had  prophesied  her  success  in  England.  He 
had  expected  that  she  would  make  a sensation  when  she  appeared 
among  the  right  people.  Ken  way  knew  that  to  achieve  social  succ(  ss 
it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  have  the  entree  to  a particular  set,  and 
Lady  Betty  Morse  had  opened  the  sacred  door.  He  had  dreamed 
of  KoorMi  elevated  to  the  first  rank  of  professional  beauties.  He 
had  dreamed  of  the  approving  glances  of  great  personages.  And  lo! 
KoorMi  had  made  her  appearance,  and  no  great  personage  had  re- 
marked her;  no  one,  indeed,  except  Morse,  who  associated  her  with 
Australia,  had  taken  any  special  notice  of  her.  Crichton  was  disap- 
pointed and  vexed.  He  felt  as  a merchant  might  feel  who  has  bought 
a diamond  supposing  it  to  be  unique  in  size  and  brilliance,  and  who 
finds  upon  comparing  it  with  other  stones  that  it  is  only  a very 
commonplace  specimen.  He  looked  at  her  furtively  as  she  leaned 


WIFE  AND  HUSBAND. 


41 


back  in  the  brougham.  There  was  that  dreamy  expression  which 
always  irritated  him,  for  it  made  him  feel  that  her  thoughts  were  far 
beyond  the  circle  in  which  his  own  revolved,  and  that  he  could  not 
follow  them.  It  gave  him  a vague  sense  of  inferiority,  and  this  he 
always  resented.  A right-minded  wife  would  see  her  husband’s 
superiority  and  bow  to  it. 

He  said  nothing,  however,  but  pulled  out  his  cigarette  case  and 
began  to  smoke.  Presently  the  carriage  drew  up  at  their  own  door. 
The  night  had  come  on  wet,  and  Kenway  as  he  got  out  observed  that 
the  coachman  had  forgotten  his  waterproof  coverings  and  that  his 
livery  was  likely  to  suffer  in  consequence.  Koorali  was  awakened 
from  a dream  of  her  girlhood — a dream  in  which  Sand  ham  Morse, 
Judge  O’Beirne,  and  the  Little  Queen  going  forth  to  see  the  world 
stood  out  with  startling  vividness — by  her  husband’s  angry  tones,  as 
he  scolded  the  servant  for  his  negligence.  Kenway  usually  spoke 
imperiously  to  those  in  his  employment,  though  he  had  always  the 
conventional  English  squire’s  “Thankye,”  and  pleasant  smile  ready  on 
demand  for  the  servants  of  his  country  hosts,  or  even  for  the  inde- 
pendent bumpkin  on  the  roadside  or  at  the  gate. 

Koorali  got  down  alone,  and  stood  under  the  portico  while  Kenway 
finished  his  scolding  and  gave  some  directions  about  the  horse,  before 
the  brougham  drove  off. 

“Why  didn’t  you  wait  till  I had  got  the  door  open?”  he  said, 
fumbling  for  his  latch-key.  “That’s  how  you  get  your  dress  spoiled, 
and  your  shoes — a night  like  this.  You  are  as  bad  as  Drake.  These 
brutes  never  care  how  much  I have  to  spend  on  keeping  them  decent.” 

Ken  way  went  in  first,  and  inspected  the  letters  lying  on  the  hall 
table  before  he  lighted  the  bedroom  candles.  He  looked  over  his 
wife's  shoulder  while  she  opened  her  letters.  One  contained  a card 
of  invitation  to  a reception  at  one  of  the  embassies,  and  it  restored 
Kenway’s  good  humour. 

Koorali  took  up  her  candle,  and  was  moving  towards  the  staircase. 

“ Aren’t  you  coming  into  the  smoking-room  ? ” said  Kenway,  “ I 
have  got  a lot  to  talk  to  you  about.  I want  to  hear  what  you  thought 
of  the  evening.” 

Koorali  hesitated  a moment,  then  followed  him  to  his  own  den  at 
the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  a comfortable  den,  and  had  a good 
many  things  in  it  that  bespoke  luxurious  tastes  on  the  part  of  its 
occupant.  In  fact,  it  was  in  a way  symptomatic  of  its  owner.  The 
writing-table  looked  business-like,  the  papers  were  arranged  and 
docketed  with  great  neatness.  Some  pamphlets  and  reports  lay  about, 
and  several  publications  relating  to  Australia  and  to  current  politics; 
among  them  the  number  of  a review  to  which  Crichton  had  contri- 
buted an  article  upon  the  annexation  of  New  Guinea.  He  had  not 
written  it  himself,  but  he  had  supplied  the  facts  and  got  the  credit 
for  it.  Crichton  made  a great  point  of  the  big  Australian- Imperial 
Question.  He  cultivated  views  upon  it,  and  hoped  they  might  bring 
him  into  notice.  There  were  not  many  other  books  or  indications  of 

4 


42 


"THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE } 


study.  Crichton  only  read  what  he  thought  might  be  of  service  to 
him  in  his  career.  His  career  was  a very  important  object  to  him, 
though  as  yet  it  was  not  very  clearly  laid  out.  He  kept  his  eye  on 
the  future,  and  at  present  the  summit  of  his  ambition  was  a colonial 
governorship.  He  wanted  to  be  a great  man  somewhere,  and  had 
sense  enough  to  know  that  he  could  not,  without  exceptional  advan- 
tages, be  a great  man  in  England.  He  wanted  to  make  England  a 
stepping-stone,  and  to  utilise  his  opportunities  while  he  was  Agent- 
General  in  order  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the  powers  at  home ; for 
he  knew  that  his  appointment  was  precarious,  and  that  Colonial 
Cabinets  succeed  each  other  very  rapidly.  At  any  time  he  might  lose 
his  post  and  the  income  it  brought  him. 

There  were  some  guns  in  a rack  over  the  mantel-piece,  a set  of 
sporting  prints,  and  a hunting  crop  or  two.  Crichton  quite  realized 
the  expediency  of  being — while  in  the  country — imbued  with  a manly 
and  British  love  of  sport,  and  of  gaining  what  interest  he  could  in 
that  direction.  He  had  already  laid  his  plans  for  getting  a footing 
in  the  particular  county  to  which  his  ancestors  had  belonged,  and  in 
which  was  the  ancestral  dwelling  that  before  his  time  passed  into 
other  hands,  as  he  phrased  it.  He  could  not  afford  to  rent  a country 
place,  but  he  had  taken  an  old-fashioned  farmhouse,  which  had  in 
bygone  time  been  a manor  house,  and  had  now  a certain  quaintness 
and  picturesqueness  quite  in  keeping  with  a modest  establishment 
and  affectation  of  rusticity.  Ken  way  could  in  imagination  hear  himself 
talking  of  “ my  little  hunting-box  which  is  nothing  to  keep  up ; but 
in  my  old  county,  don’t  you  know.”  Koorali  had  got  to  learn  that 
Kenway  did  not  know  the  county  at  all,  for  his  people  had  left  it 
before  his  generation,  and  he  had  been  brought  up  after  a rather 
humble  fashion  in  quite  another  part  of  England.  But  that  was  a 
mere  matter  of  detail. 

The  room,  lighted  only  by  a feeble  gas-jet  and  the  two  little  bed- 
room candles  which  Crichton  and  his  wife  held,  had  a lonely,  dreary 
appearance,  and  that  peculiar  oppressive  atmosph-re  which  belongs  to 
some  rooms  that  have  been  closed  for  several  hours,  and  are  entered 
late  at  night.  It  is  as  though  all  the  influences  at  work  during  the 
day  had  been  pent  up,  and,  as  if  unsympathetic  to  the  incomer,  were 
making  themselves  aggressively  felt.  On  the  other  hand,  who  does 
not  know  the  indescribable,  half-soothing,  half-stimulating  effect  on 
the  nerves  produced  by  the  air  of  a room  closed  and  darkened  and 
lately  occupied  by  some  one  loved?  After  the  big  drawing-rooms 
in  Park  Lane,  Kenway’s  study  seemed  mean  and  small,  and  there  was 
something  about  it  which  gave  Koorali  the  fancy  that  she  was  enter- 
ing a prison.  She  unconsciously  drew  a deep  breath,  and  loosened  her 
feather-trimmed  wrap,  which  fell  away  from  her  bare  neck  and  slim  form. 

Crichton  turned  up  the  gas,  drew  forward  the  smallest  of  two  leather 
chairs  which  flanked  the  fireplace,  and  placed  himself  in  the  other. 

“ Sit  down,”  he  said.  “ What  was  Morse  talking  to  you  about  ? 
You  seemed  to  be  having  a long,  conversation  together.” 


WIFE  AND  HUSBAND. 


43 


Koor&li  put  down  her  candle  and  sat  down  as  he  hade  her. 

‘ We  were  talking  of  old  times,”  she  answered. 

“ Old  times!”  repeated  Kenway.  His  tone  was  not  meant  to  chill. 
It  was  often  meant  to  be  genial,  yet  to  Koorkli’s  sensitive  ear  it  almost 
always  had  an  inflexion  of  sarcasm.  He  pulled  to  him  a tray  on 
which  stood  glasses  and  spirit  decanters,  and  poured  some  brandy  into 
a tumbler  which  he  filled  from  a syphon.  “ There  couldn’t  have  been 
so  many  of  them  to  talk  over,”  he  said.  “ I thought  you  only  met 
Morse  once,  when  he  was  on  his  way  home  from  Australia.  I shouldn’t 
have  thought  that  you  remembered  much  about  him.” 

“]  was  with  Mr.  Morse  for  twenty-four  hours  on  board  the  steamer,” 
replied  Koorali.  “ I remember  it  very  well.  I have  never  forgotten 
him.  He  interested  me.  I thought  him  like  Napoleon.” 

“He  has  a look  of  Plon-Plon,  especially  now  that  he  has  got 
stouter,”  remarked  Ken  way,  in  that  tone  of  vague  depreciation  which 
always  irritated  Koorali,  though  now  she  was  instantly  vexed  with 
herself  for  feeling  irritated. 

“ The  meeting  there — our  talk — I don’t  know  what — impressed  me,” 
continued  K<  oiali.  “It  all  came  back  very  vividly  this  evening.  I 
think  it  made  me  a little  bit  melancholy.” 

She  spoke  rather  sadly;  and  she  looked  at  her  husband  with  soft 
eyes,  that  seemed  to  ask  his  sympathy. 

“Now  I should  like  to  know  exactly  why,”  asked  Ken  way.  “ You 
are  so  often  melancholy,  that  it  would  be  a satisfaction  for  once  to  get 
at  the  reason.”  He  lit  another  cigarette,  and  then  removed  it  from 
his  lips  to  drink  a little  of  his  brandy  and  soda-water. 

“ I was  such  a child.  I felt  so  eager  to  see  life,  and  I fancied  that 
everything  good  v^as  going  to  happen  to  me.” 

“And  haven’t  lots  of  good  things  happened  to  you?”  exclaimed 
Kenway,  with  energy.  “ Here  you  are  in  England,  doing  your  season 
in  London,  and  going  to  all  the  best  houses.  It’s  more  than  old 
Middlemist’s  daughter  had  any  riaht  to  expect.”  He  laughed  to  him- 
self, as  if  amused  at  the  incongruity. 

Koorali  sat  quite  still,  but  her  eyes  grew  brighter  and  harder. 

“ Yes,  I know.  You  fancied  yourself  a sort  of  princess,”  continued 
Kenway.  “ Oh,  I remember  very  well,  and  that  first  year  of  the 
Middlemist  Ministry.  Girls  in  Australia,  if  they  are  pretty,  get 
utterly  exaggerated  notions  of  their  own  importance.  It’s  all  a flash- 
in-the-pan  out  there — power,  good  looks,  and  the  rest  of  it.  There’s 
nothing  solid  like  money  or  rank.  Sandham  Morse  did  well  to  come 
to  England  and  try  for  the  real  thing,  and,  by  Jove,  he  has  got  it.” 
Ken  way  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  with  an  expressive  gesture 
shook  off  the  burnt-out  end  of  his  cigarette.  Koo>ali  remained  silent. 
“ You  have  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied,”  said  Kenwray,  his  thoughts 
going  back  upon  themselves.  “ It  isn’t  as  though  you  had  had  money. 
If  I hadn’t  fallen  in  love  with  you,  you’d  have  played  second  fiddle  to 
your  stepmother,  and  you’d  have  ended  by  marrying  some  beggarly 
official  or  rough  squatter.  This  is  a good  deal  better  than  vegetating 


44 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


on  a cattle  station.  No,  no,  my  dear,  you  have  done  very  well  foi 
yourself.”  Kenway  laughed  again. 

Koorali’s  face  had  chang  d.  It  did  not  look  so  childlike.  She 
spoke  now  with  an  evident  effort  at  brightness. 

“Admitted — in  a grateful  spirit.  But,  however  brilliant  one’s  lot, 
Crichton,  I suppose  one  may  feel  a little  regret  over  youth  that  is 
gone  V ” 

“ Nonsense  ! ” exclaimed  Kenwav.  “ I’d  lay  long  odds  that  you  are 
not  as  old  as  lady  Betty  Morse.”  He  looked  at  his  wife  critically, 
and  seemed  to  be  drawing  a mental  comparison.  “It’s  curious  what 
a difference  style  and  manner  make  in  a woman ! ” he  added  reflectively. 
“ You  and  Lady  Betty  are  not  unlike.  I wonder  I didn’t  notice  it 
before.  You  have  the  same-shaped  head  and  face,  and  the  same  sort 

of  complexion  and  figure ” He  paused  abruptly,  then  said,  “Why 

don’t  you  go  to  one  of  the  dressmakers  or  man-milliners  who  turn  out 
fashionable  London  women,  and  get  decently  set  up  ? You  look  pro- 
vincial— or  colonial,  which  is  worse.” 

“Do  you  want  me  to  be  a fashionable  London  woman,  Crichton?” 
asked  Koorali  slowly.  “ I think  it  might  be  a little  difficult  to  get 
some  one  to  teach  me ; but  I can  trv.” 

“ I wa'-t  you  to  make  the  best  of  yourself,  to  hold  your  own,  to  say 
the  agreeable  thing.  I am  afraid  there  is  not  much  use  in  wanting 
you  10  be  admired  and  sought  after — like  Lady  Betty,”  replied  Kenway. 

“That  would  be  a linle  unreasonable,  perhaps,”  said  Koora!i,  her 
eyes,  with  their  straight  clear  look,  meetim  those  of  her  hu>band.  “ l 
have  not  had  the  advantages  of  Lady  Betty  Morse.  I have  neither 
money  nor  rank.  I have  not  been  trained  to  the  groat  world.  I don’t 
understand  its  ways.  And ” she  paused  a second — “I  don’t  sup- 

pose that  Lady  Betty  could  be  persuaded  to  take  me  as  a pupil.  You 
might  ask  her,  Crichton,  if  you  think  that  you  can  prevail  upon  her, 
and  if  you  are  very  much  afraid  that  I shall  bring  discredit  upon  you. 
You  should  have  weighed  all  this,  dear,  before  you  asked  a South 
Britain  girl  to  marry  you.” 

Koorali  spoke  with  a suppressed  bitterness,  though  her  voice  quavered 
a little.  Cnchton  turned  sharply  upon  her. 

“ You  needn’t  be  so  infernally  nasty  over  whnt  I say  to  you  for  your 
good.  I sup] vise  you’ve  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  South 
Britain  isn’t  exactly  a school  for  deportment.” 

“ Oh  yes,  Crichton  ; or,  at  all  events,  1 ought  to  have  learned  it  from 
you.  But  I am  a little  bewildered,  you  know;  and  I don’t  think  you 
quite  give  me  credit  for  trying  to  conquer  my  savage  instincts.  On 
the  whole  I think  I deserve  some  praise  for  not  having  danced  a cor- 
roboree  1 efore  the  Prince  this  evening.  Perhaps  it  might  have  amused 
hun  if  I had.  Anyhow,  it  would  have  made  him  notice  me,  and  you 
would  have  liked  that.” 

Ken  way  did  not  understand  his  wife  in  this  mood.  He  did  not  quite 
know  how  to  take  her.  He  got  up  on  the  pretext  that  the  gas  was 
flaring,  turned  it  down,  and  then  spoke  to  her  in  a different  tone. 


WIFE  AND  HUSBAND . 


45 

“ I dare  say  that  you'd  pick  up  things  quickly  enough,  if  you  took  a 
little  trouble,”  he  said,  seating  himself  again. 

“ It  is  not  so  much  a question  of  trouble,  do  you  think,  Crichton,  as 
of  time,”  said  Koorali  in  the  same  quiet  manne  , with  its  touch  oi 
sarcasm.  “ 1 am  afraid  I am  too  old  to  go  to  a school  of  deportment 
in  London,  though  1 can  get  taught  to  make  my  curtsy  to  the  Queen ; 
hut  I will  do  my  best  to  take  advantage  of  such  opportunities  as 
to-nhht,  for  instance.” 

Crichton  eyed  her  from  beneath  lowered  lashes  for  a few  moments ; 
but  she  sat  looking  straight  before  her  into  the  empty  fireplace. 

“ The  fault  I have  to  find  with  you,”  he  said  presently,  with  his  air 
of  man-of-the-world  philosophy  and  his  look  carelessly  bent  in  another 
direction,  “is  that  you  don’t  hold  your  own,  especially  among  the 
family.  Every  one  is  liable  to  slips,  but  one  needn’t  have  them 
chronicled.  It’s  a mistake  to  play  into  people’s  hands,  and  my  rela- 
tions are  too  ready  to  patronize  you  and  make  you  seem  cheap.  I 
don’t  object  to  patronage,  when  it’s  from  my  superiors,  but  I can’t 
stand  it  from  cousins  by  marriage.” 

Crichton  paused,  glancing  again  at  his  wife.  The  disdainful  droop 
of  KoorYIi’s  lips  seemed  to  contradict  a pathetic,  slightly-puzzled  look 
in  her  eyes. 

“ You  mean  your  cousin,  Mrs.  Kevile-Beauchamp.  I do  not  think 
it  matters  much  whether  she  patronizes  me  or  not.” 

The  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  struck  two.  She  half  rose  with  a 
gesture  of  weariness. 

“ Don't  go  yet.  It  does  matter ; it  affects  your  position  in  the 
family.  There’s  always  a lot  of  jealousy  among  relations.  That’s  the 
world.  They’d  sneer  away  everything  that  they  haven’t  got  them- 
selves. The  only  things  that  can’t  be  sneered  away  are  money  and 
social  position.  Eustace  has  been  clever  enough  to  pick  up  a Sheffield 
heiress,  and  so  has  got  the  one.  Twenty  thousand  a year  is  solid.  A 
man  can  feel  his  feet  on  it.  You  and  I have  got  to  take  our  stand  on 
different  ground,  since  we  have  been  sold  over  the  old  aunt’s  legacy. 
But  it  is  not  necessary  to  proclaim  the  fact  that  our  inheritance  con  - 
sists  of  some  bits  of  china  and  a few  diamonds.  Do  you  understand, 
Koorali  ? ” 

“ I think  I do.  I am  sorry  to  have  been  indiscreet,  and  to  have 
enlightened  your  cousin.” 

“Oh!”  Ken  way  lifted  his  chin  and  drooped  his  eyelids  in  a manner 
equivalent  to  a shrug  of  the  shoulders.  “ The  family  would  have 
found  that  out  anyhow;  but  the  family  isn’t  Society,  though  it  would 
like  one  to  think  so.  You  are  not  the  sort  of  person  a statesman  would 
come  to  for  advice,  my  dear,  or  a general  either.  You  don’t  know  how 
to  keep  a position  when  I have  gained  it  for  you  by  a little  strati  gv  or 
swagger.  Don’t  look  so  scorniul.  A wise  man  knows  how  to  use  his 
tools.  Swagger  as  a tool  is  not  to  be  underrated.  It  suits  some  people. 
It  suits  Kitty  Nevile-Beauchamp.  But  I saw  at  dinner  this  evening  that 
you  had  not  taken  her  measure.  You  were  stupid.  You  annoyed  me.” 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


46 


“Is  that  possible?”  asked  Koor&li,  with  ever  so  slight  a tone  of 
contempt  in  her  voice.  “ In  what  way  ? ” 

“ You  made  me  appear  ridiculous.  When  I spoke  of  the  Morses, 
and  said  that  we  were  going  on  there,  you  did  not  observe  the  change 
in  Kitty’s  face  and  take  your  cue.  Kitty  Nevile-Beauchamp  knows 
to  her  cost  that  to  get  into  that  set  is  an  achievement.  You  rose  fifty 
degrees  in  her  estimation.  Why  did  you  not  let  well  alone?  Were 
you  obliged  to  explain  that  we  did  not  know  Lady  Betty,  and  that  we 
had  bem  asked  through  the  Plymptons?  A fool  tells  the  unnecessary 
truth  ot  to-day,  which  may  be  the  lie  of  to-morrow.  A woman  of  the 
world  holds  her  tongue.  That’s  part  of  the  lesson  of  London  life  which 
you  have  to  learn.” 

Koorali  smiled  a peculiar  sort  of  smile,  and  slightly  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

“The  unnecessary  truth  of  to-day  may  he  the  lie  of  to-morrow? 
Yes;  1 see.  I wonder  whether  the  unnecessary  lie  of  to-day  might 
turn  out  to  he  the  truth  of  to-morrow?  If  that  were  so,  don’t  you 
think  some  men  would  find  themselves  becoming  unexpectedly  tellers 
of  the  truth  ?” 

Ken  way  looked  curiously  at  her;  a sort  of  sinister  look  it  was. 
Koorali’s  dreamy  eves  had  a disconcerting  way  of  seeming  to  see  to 
the  very  heart  of  things  sometimes.  He  kept  his  composure,  however. 

“Well,  Koora  i”  he  said,  “a  fellow  who  tells  unnecessary  lies 
deserves  anything,  I think.” 

“ Deserves  even  to  have  his  lies  of  to-day  come  true  to-morrow  ? 
Yes;  but  in  some  cases  that  wouldn’t  be  a punishment  exactly.  And 
that  seems  a little  unjust.” 

Ken  way  did  not  like  this  sort  of  thing. 

“ Anyhow,  Koorali,  the  point  is  this.  You  ought  to  learn  the  lesson 
I have  1 een  trying  to  teach  you,  and  not  blurt  out  before  people  things 
which  it  is  neither  necessary  nor  desirable  they  should  know.  Do  you 
understand  ? You  are  quick  enough  to  understand  things  when  you 
like.” 

“Yes,”  she  said  slowly;  “I  think  I understand — I think  I quite 
understand.  I am  sorry  for  my  mistake  of  to-night.  I ought  to  have 
learned  my  lesson  better  by  this  time.”  She  rose  and  took  her  candle, 
and  prepared  to  go  upstairs.  She  stood  for  a moment,  holding  her 
light  with  one  hand  and  keeping  back  her  draperies  with  the  other,  and 
she  looked  at  her  husband,  awaiting  his  formal  caress. 

The  tone  of  her  voice  had  struck  uncomfortably  on  Kenway.  There 
was,  he  thought,  something  uncomfortable  in  her  expression  also.  It 
was  at  va'iame  somehow  with  the  giilish  softness  of  her  face,  with  the 
small,  s’ender  form  in  its  lace  robe  that  would  not  puff  out  here  and 
cling  in  to  her  shape  there,  or  assume  the  folds  that  fashion  ordained, 
lie  lo<  k<d  at  her,  studied  her,  her  figure,  her  dress.  He  was  consider- 
ing how  far  she  was  qualified  to  play  a decent  part  in  the  game  w'herein 
he  hoped  to  win.  fihe  knew  well  what  he  was  think  ng  of,  and  a look 
of  sadness,  almost  of  pity,  came  into  her  expressive  eyes. 

“ 1 am  going  upstairs  now.  I am  very  tired,”  she  said  suddenly, 


WIFE  AND  HUSBAND. 


47 

and  she  went  to  her  husband  of  her  own  accord,  touched  his  forehead 
with  her  lips,  and  left  him  as  if  she  would  rather  not  give  him  the 
opportunity  for  another  word.  • 

Koorali  went  slowly  upstairs  and  into  her  own  room.  She  put  her 
candle  down  on  the  dressing-table  and  turned  up  the  gas-jet  above  the 
toilet  mirror,  which  was  long  and  gave  back  her  whoie  form.  She 
gazed  at  the  reflection  in  a dreamy  pitying  way.  The  small  pale  'ace 
and  the  deep  dark  eyes  did  not  seem  somehow  to  belong  to  herself,  but 
were  a part  of  the  brilliant  scene  she  had  left  a little  while  ago — an 
inharmonious  part,  an  incongruity  among  the  gay  crowd,  the  conven- 
tional smiles,  the  jewels,  the  talk,  the  lights,  the  distinguished  men, 
and  the  glittering  women.  That  little  figure  had  been  out  of  place 
there.  The  soul  in  those  eyes  was  a lonely  soul,  and  the  real  Koorali 
had  been  outside  it  all — a cold,  starved  little  creature,  who  didn’t  tit 
into  the  life  which  would  have  satisfied  so  many  women,  and  who 
would  never  meet  the  requirements  of  those  whom  it  should  be  her 
duty  and  her  joy  to  please.  It  was  as  though  she  had  just  missed  the 
point  of  contact,  yet  her  sympathies  were  quivering  and  bleeding.  She 
was  not  dull,  or  blunt,  or  blind.  She  had  a vague  sense  of  capacity, 
an  almost  painful  intuition  as  to  the  rights  of  things — an  intuition 
that  frightened  her.  She  wanted  to  see  what  was  good  and  great,  and 
only  the  meanness  and  the  self-interested  motives  put  themselves  for- 
ward ; and  this  bewildered  her,  and  she  becan  to  wonder  in  dreary 
depressed  fashion  if  there  were  anything  good  or  great  in  the  world  at  all. 

She  lifted  her  arms  suddenly  and  let  her  bosom  heave  as  though  she 
were  straining  for  air  and  liberty.  With  the  sense  of  oppression,  there 
was,  too,  one  of  vague,  wild  rebellion — not  anger,  not  resentment.  No 
one  was  wrong.  She  had  no  right  to  complain  of  her  lot.  She  had 
flown  of  her  own  accord  into  the  gilded  cage.  She  was  well  te  nded. 
Her  master  only  required  her  to  sing;  and  she  could  not  sing  to  his 
liking.  Her  notes  were  false  wdien  she  piped  in  the  great  world. 

Her  imagination  went  drifting ; the  lights  in  the  mirror  multiplied 
themselves,  and  the  background  she  had  left  formed  behind  her  own 
white  figure  in  the  glass,  while  other  figures  blended  with  it.  What  a 
vast,  confusing,  wonderful  world  it  was — this  living  London ! It  was 
like  a theatre  in  which  every  one  had  a part  to  play,  with  appropriate 
dresses,  and  speeches,  and  gestures.  She  thought  of  the  show  that 
evening,  of  the  people  she  had  seen,  as  a child  might  to  whom  the 
heroes  and  heroines  of  her  story-book  have  appeared  as  flesh  and  blood 
— the  Prince  and  Princess,  the  statesmen,  Lady  Petty,  who  sang  her 
song  so  well,  who  seemed  so  entirely  at  her  ease,  who  knew  her  part  so 
perfectly.  P>he  thought  of  Morse,  playing  his  part  too.  No  wonder 

the  Australian  stage  had  seemed  to  him  petty.  And  yet She 

had  a fancy  that  it  was  not  always  reality  to  him,  and  that  there  were 
moments  w hen  he  felt  himself  out  of  place ; as  if  an  experiment  had 
not  quite  succeeded.  Once,  when  by  chance  she  looked  into  his  eyes 
straight,  she  seemed  to  see  Australia  gleaming  there.  Just  one  of  her 
odd  fancies. 


48 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


Ken  way  s step  sounded  in  the  hall  below,  and  the  bolts  grated  as  he 
shot  them  for  the  night.  Koorali  started  from  her  dream.  She  un- 
clasped her  necklace,  and  smiled  a little  as  she  laid  it  down.  She  was 
sorry  for  Crichton  that  even  his  aunt’s  diamonds  had  turned  out  le^s 
well  than  he  expected.  She  took  up  her  candle  again,  and,  without 
waiting  to  unfasten  her  dress,  mounted  the  other  flight  of  stairs  to  the 
children’s  nursery. 

Her  two  boys,  Lance  and  Miles,  lay  in  their  cribs.  Lance,  the 
eldest,  sturdy  and  unimaginative,  with  freckled  face  and  his  father’s 
features,  was  fast  asleep,  the  bedclothes  tossed  off  his  robust  little 
form.  Koorali  only  paused  to  cover  him  again,  and  then,  shading  the 
candle,  knelt  by  the  bedside  of  the  youngest.  Miles,  who  was  fragile 
and  precocious,  and  like  a girl  with  his  silky  curls  and  delicate  features. 
He  was  a strange,  thoughtful  child,  and  was  often  ailing. 

He  stirred  as  his  mother  watched  him,  and  the  light  came  on  his 
face.  He  opened  a pair  of  dreamy  eyes,  like  hers ; and  put  up  his  little 
hand  to  her  neck,  looking  at  her  in  a half-a wakened  way. 

“Mother,  you’re  like  an  angel— I thought  it  was.” 

“ I’ve  been  to  a party,  darling.  Now  go  to  sleep  a era  in.” 

But  Miles  raised  himself,  and  gazed  at  her  wi  h troubled  child -eyes, 
under  which  there  were  traces  of  a child’s  stormy  weeping,  lie  had 
gone  to  bed  in  disgrace.  The  brothers  had  quarrelled.  Miles’s  temper 
was  fretful  and  uncertain.  He  was  a little  jealous  of  Lance,  who  was 
his  lather’s  favourite,  and  whose  rough  and  ready  patronage  he  resented. 
This  evening  Crichton  had  been  angry  with  him,  and  the  boy  was 
sensitive.  A sob  shook  him  now. 

“ Mother,  do  you  forgive  me  V I want  you  to  forgive  me.  I can’t 
bear  you  not  to  love  me.” 

Koorali  gathered  him  to  her.  “I  love  you  always,  my  little  one.” 
She  kissed  and  soothed  him. 

“ Lance  hasn’t  forgiven  me,”  Miles  went  whispering  on.  “ I wanted 
to  wake  him.  I wanted  to  give  him  my  nine-pins — to  make  it  up ; but 
he  wouldn’t  wake.” 

“ You  shall  ask  him  to  forgive  you  to-morrow,”  said  Koorali.  And 
she  lay  down  beside  the  boy. 

In  a minute  or  two  the  tiny  voice  whispered  again,  “Mother,  I wish 
Adam  hadn’t  been  naughty.” 

“ What  put  that  into  your  head,  dear  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know.  It’s  all  because  of  him.  I’m  so  sad  when  I’ve  been 
naughty.  I don’t  like  it.” 

“That’s  just  the  good,”  said  Koorali;  “for  if  we  weren’t  sad  we 
should  lose  being  able  to  care;  and  there’s  nothing — nothing  so 
dreadful  as  not  to  care  when  we  are  naughty.” 

“ Do  you  care  very  much,  mother,  when  you  are  naughty  and  father 
scolds  you  ?”  asked  the  boy. 

“ I try  to ; yes,  I try  to,”  said  KoorMi,  with  a throb  in  her  voice. 

“ I dreamed  about  the  Resurrection,”  Miles  went  on.  “ Don’t  you 
wish  it  was  coming  ? I wish  I was  in  heaven.  I can’t  go  to  sleep  for 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE. 


49 

thinking  of  heaven.  Mother,  don’t  you  wish  we  could  go  there 
together  now — you  and  me?” 

Koorali  kissed  the  b >y  very  gently.  She  restrained  the  impulse  to 
press  him  passionately  to  her.  There  was  an  ache  at  her  heart.  This 
was  all  it  came  to!  To  the  tired  child,  and  to  the  tired  young  mother, 
life  seemed  nothing  better  than  a pageant,  and  to  turn  from  it  a relief. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE. 

England  had  fallen  upon  gloomy  days  just  now,  most  people  said 
Indeed,  it  looked  like  that.  Trade  was  depressed  in  an  ominous  way; 
agriculture  was  in  what  seemed  uttermost  distress ; farms  were  lying 
unoccupied  and  idle  all  over  the  country ; there  was  sullen  discontent 
among  the  rural  labourers;  there  was  bitter,  angry,  loud-voiced  discon- 
tent among  the  artisans  in  the  towns.  Now,  to  make  matters  wor.-e, 
the  shadow  of  a great  war  appeared  to  be  forecast  over  the  land.  There 
had  been  a series  of  irritating,  wasting,  little  wars  with  semi-savage 
desert  races  here  and  there  ; now  everybody  said  a great  war  was  coming 
with  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  continent  d states. 

The  fact  was,  that  for  some  time  many  Englishmen  had  been 
longing  for  a big  war  with  somebody — anybody.  They  were  sick  of 
li earing  on  all  sides  that  England’s  fighting  days  were  over ; that  she 
could  never  again  stand  up  to  any  enemy  more  formidable  than  an 
Egyptian  Arab  or  a South  African  Cadre;  and  they  were  filled  with  a 
wild  desire  to  show  that  their  country  had  fight  enough  in  her  yet. 
No  mood  could  be  more  dangerous  or  less  reasonable.  One  reason  why 
Morse  was  glad  that  the  Administration  he  belonged  to  was  broken  up 
was  because  he  saw  th  it  if  things  went  on  longer  in  the  same  way 
most  of  his  colleagues  would  go  in  for  popularity  and  a war.  Morse 
detested  the  policy  which  would  provoke  a war  with  such  a motive. 
Pie  did  not  believe  that  in  this  particular  case  there  was  any  just 
ground  of  war;  he  did  not  believe  the  State  was  prepared  for  war. 
Finally,  if  war  had  to  come,  he  did  not  believe  his  party  could  manage 
it  as  well  as  the  other ; and  he  did  not  wish  them  to  have  its  fearful 
responsibility,  suspecting  that  they  were  not  sincerely  convinced  of  the 
richt  in  the  policy  he  feared  they  would  take  up.  General  elections 
were  pending,  and  Morse  hoped  to  be  able  before  they  came  on  to 
rouse  a strong  agitation  among  the  working  classes  all  over  the  country 
against  war.  In  the  meantime,  however,  he  had  good  reason  to 
believe  that  the  new  Ministers  were  determined  to  go  in  for  war  at 
once,  and  let  the  elections  be  taken  after  the  first  cannon  had 
thundered.  Evidently,  the  hope  of  the  men  now  in  office  was  that 
the  constituencies  would  never  change  a Ministry  while  England  was 
in  a death-grapple  with  a strong  enemy.  Therefore  he  determined  to 
act  at  once.  He  conferred  with  some  influential  Radicals,  and  got 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


SO 

their  authority  to  strike  a stroke  for  them.  The  Court  circle  was 
believed  to  be  all  in  favour  of  war,  but  the  more  reasonable  among  the 
aristocracy  were  understood  to  have  little  sympathy  with  such  a 
policy;  and  Morse  was  sure  the  working  classes  could  be  brought 
everywhere  into  a determ  md  opposition  to  it.  If  he  were  to  make 
the  first  move,  relying  on  the  working  classes,  the  chances  were  that 
all  the  aristocra'ic  sections  and  their  dependents  would  hold  back  from 
a movement  led  by  a Radical,  a supposed  republican.  But  if  some 
great  peer  could  be  got  to  speak  out  against  the  war  policy,  then 
Morse  could  lend  some  effective  help  from  the  other  quarter.  His 
belief  was  that  the  aristocracy  and  the  working  classes  combined  could 
save  the  country  yet,  if  only  they  could  be  brought  to  combine.  It 
was  with  that  feeling  strong  within  him  that  he  wrote  to  Lord  Forrest 
asking  for  an  interview. 

The  day  after  Lady  Betty’s  party  Morse  was  to  receive  Masterson, 
then  to  visit  Lord  Forrest,  and  after  that  it  was  his  intention  to  call, 
for  the  fir  st  time,  on  Koorali. 

Morse  and  Stephen  Masterson  had  been  friends  at  school  and  at  the 
university.  Masterson  had  started  with  greater  advantages  and  far 
greater  promise.  He  had  succeeded  young  to  a considerable  fortune, 
and  he  showed  great  abilities.  At  the  debating  society  he  was  one  of 
the  foremost  speakers.  Morse  and  he  were  friendly  rivals.  Young 
members  generally  preferred  Masterson ; he  had  more  imagination, 
they  thought.  Morse  was  very  clever  in  caustic  analysis  and  sarcastic 
reply ; but  Masterson  had  ideas,  Masterson  had  a future  before  him, 
Masterson  would  be  a leader  of  men. 

Time  had  gone  by,  and  Masterson  now  believed  himself  a leader  of 
men.  He  considered  himself  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  English  social 
revolution.  He  stood  as  a candidate  for  various  constituencies  and 
failed.  It  might  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  could  have  got  into 
the  bonds  of  a parliamentary  life.  He  had  married  a young  woman  of 
humble  birth,  whom  he  dearly  and  passionately  loved,  and  she  died 
before  they  had  many  years  of  happiness ; then  their  only  child  died, 
and  Masterson  was  left  alone.  Pei  haps  it  was  the  lack  of  her  sweet 
controlling  influence  which  allowed  him  to  get  all  astray;  for  he  had 
got  all  astray,  society  said.  He  had  gone  in  for  all  manner  of  wild 
continental  schemes  of  democracy,  and  had  tried  with  all  the  fervour 
and  passion  of  fanaticism  to  make  exotic  political  passion-flowers 
flourish  on  English  soil.  It  was  he  who  had  the  happy  thought  of 
effecting  a combination  between  Irish  Nationalists  and  cosmopolitan 
Red  Republicans.  The  combination  did  not  hold.  That,  indeed,  is 
jmtting  the  failure  rather  mildly.  The  attempt  at  combination  led  to 
a hopeless  quarrel,  and  Masterson  left  the  Irish  Nationalists  to  go 
their  darkling  way.  After  this  he  confined  his  efforts  chiefly  to  Eng- 
land and  Englishmen,  and  he  endeavoured  to  form  a revolutionary 
party  among  English  working  men.  He  spent  his  money  freely  in  his 
propaganda ; but  he  was  not  able  to  make  it  quite  clear  to  English 
working  men  in  general  what  his  revolution  was  to  be.  It  was  to  pull 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE. 


V 

down  the  dynasty,  the  aristocracy,  and  all  the  moneyed  classes  , £>ut  it 
was  not  part  of  the  programme,  apparently,  to  show  what  was  to  he 
set  up  when  all  these  had  been  pulled  down.  Men  called  him  vain; 
some  mad,  as  the  eloquent  Claude  Melnotte  says  of  himself,  and,  like 
Claude  Melnotte,  whom  otherwise  he  did  not  greatly  resemble,  he 
heeded  them  not. 

The  old  friendship  between  him  and  Morse  had  never  faded  or  even 
flickered,  although  Morse  had  been  such  a brilliant  success  and  poor 
Masterson  such  a ghastly  failure.  It  was  characteristic  of  the  two 
men  that  Masterson  did  not  hate  Morse  for  his  success,  nor  Morse 
despise  Masterson  for  his  failure.  Somebody  once  sa  d in  Ma'terson’s 
hearing,  “I  never  could  quite  make  out  Morse;”  and  Masteison 
instantly  said,  “Make  out  Morse — you?  why  of  course  you  couldn’t. 
Who  ever  supposed  that  you  could  make  out  Morse?  ” Some  one  said 
to  Morse,  “ Is  your  friend  Masterson  a mere  madman ? ” “A  mere 
madman,”  was  the  cool  reply.  “ He  has  spent  a fortune  in  what  he 
believes  to  be  the  cause  of  the  people.  You  and  I,  my  dear  fellow,  are 
not  such  fools  as  to  do  that  sort  of  thing,  are  we?  ” 

“ I am  at  home  to  Mr.  Masterson,”  Morse  said  to  his  servant  that 
morning.  “ I am  always  at  home  to  Mr.  Masterson ; but  he  is  coming 
by  special  appointment  at  eleven  to-day.” 

At  the  fixed  hour  Masterson  made  his  appearance.  He  was  a tall 
thin  man,  who  bad  once  been  handsome.  He  was  about  the  same  age 
as  Morse,  perhaps  a shade  younger,  but  he  looked  full  sixty.  His  once 
dark  beard  was  nearly  all  grey;  his  face  was  seamed  and  lined  all  over; 
his  eyes  were  keen,  wild,  and  restless.  His  long  lean  hands  trembled 
He  was  very  poorly,  or  perhaps  carelessly,  dressed.  Yet  he  was  unmis- 
takably a gentleman — a ruined  gentleman. 

“ Good  morning,  my  dear  Morse.”  He  talked  in  a voluble,  nervous 
way,  and  did  not  often,  when  he  could,  give  anybody  else  a chance. 
“ 1 am  so  delighted  to  see  you,  my  dear  fellow.  How  is  dear  Lady 

Betty?  I haven’t  seen  her  for  some  time ” 

“Your  fault,  old  man,  not  hers,”  Morse  contrived  to  strike  in  while 
Masterson,  who  had  been  walking  fast,  was  taking  breath  and  preparing 
for  a long  delivery. 

“ 1 know,  I know;  just  what  I say.  Kindness  itself,  Lady  Betty ; 
I always  say  so,”  he  exclaimed,  still  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down. 
“But  I am  one  of  the  people — a democrat,  a rebel,  they  say.  It 
wouldn’t  do  for  me  to  intrude  upon  Court  gatherings  or  informal 
Cabinet  councils.  Every  one  knows  that  Lady  Betty’s  drawing-room 
is  a political  meeting-ground;  all  the  better  for  the  purpose,  because 
no  one  could  accuse  her  of  being  a female  diplomatist,  and  because  you 
are — what  you  are.  Oh,  what  might  you  not  be,  now  that  you  have 
cut  yourself  loose  from  the  mob  of  aristocrats  and  capitalists?” 

The  demagogue  paused  for  a moment,  and,  lifting  his  thin  hands, 
eyed  Morse  with  tragic  earnestness. 

“ Sandham,  Sandham,  if  you  had  chosen  a wife  as  I would  have  had 
you  choose ” 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


“A  woman’s  rights’  oratress  or  a shrieking  female  philosopher, 
instead  of  a member  of  our  effete  and  corrupt  aristocracy,”  said  Morse 
with  a laugh.  “Never  mind,  Masterson;  we  won’t  discuss  Lady 
Betty  from  that  point  of  view,  anyhow.  Sit  down,  and  let  us  talk  in 
earnest.”  He  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  big  leather  armchairs,  but 
Masterson  did  not  at  once  take  another. 

“Look  here!”  he  exclaimed,  still  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down, 
“ I want  just  to  say  a few  words  to  you.  You  are  a busy  man ; so  am 
I.”  Poor  Masterson  delighted  in  believing  that  some  tremendous 
transactions  were  always  awaiting  his  coming  for  their  satisfactory 
settlement.  “ I have  another  engagement  almost  immediately,  down 
at  the  East  End — I should  say  seven  miles  from  here.  But  yours  is 
the  more  important,  that  I will  say — the  more  important.” 

“ I haven't  any  other  engagement  for  nearly  an  hour,”  Morse  said. 
“ I am  always  glad  to  see  you ; always  glad  to  hear  your  views  and 
projects.” 

“ They  will  soon  be  something  more  than  projects.  They  will  be 
great  historical  facts,”  exclaimed  Masterson  excitedly.  “You  haven’t 
believed  in  me;  you  have  said  to  yourself  that  I’m  all  gas  and 
denunciation.  But  you  shall  believe  in  me,  and  what  is  more,  Sandham, 
you  shall  help  me  to  save  England.” 

He  drew  up  a chair  to  the  writing-table,  and  went  on  in  his  former 
tone.  His  manner  was  a curious  combination  of  fussiness  and  rather 
melodramatic  declamation;  and  the  two  styles  seemed  to  alternate 
with  each  other. 

“ 1 should  like  to  help  yon  in  that”  Morse  said. 

“Thanks!”  he  said.  “Yes,  I know  you  mean  it,  dear  old  boy; 
ever  so  good  of  you.  But  you  were  always  like  that.  Well,  I shan’t 
keep  you  a quarter  of  an  hour — this  time,  at  least.  What  I want  tc 
ask  you  is  this,  Morse.  You  have  broken  away  from  your  old  moorings 
— God  be  thanked  and  God  bless  you  for  it ! — Will  you  come  with 
us?”  He  laid  his  hand  on  Morse’s  shoulder  and  gazed  into  his  face 
with  an  expression  of  painful  anxiety  and  entreaty  in  his  glittering 
dark  eyes. 

There  was  a moment’s  silence.  The  ticking  of  the  little  clock  on 
the  chimney-piece  was  heard  distinctly.  Morse  was  looking  at  Master- 
son  ; but  their  eyes  hardly  met.  Morse  was  thinking  to  himself ; he 
was  asking  himself,  “Is  there  anything  in  this?  How,  if  he  should 
net  be  the  mere  fanatic,  and  craze,  and  crank  all  men  ot  the  world  say  ho 
is  ? Plow,  if  he  should  have  got  hold  of  a true  idea,  and  should  come  in 
the  end  to  have  a people  behind  him?  He  would  not  be  for  this  war.” 

“Look  here,  dear  old  friend,”  Morse  said  at  last,  “you  know  what  I 
think  of  you,  and  I needn’t  say  anything  on  that  score;  but  1 don’t 
really  know  much  about  your  cause  or  your  objects  or  your  following. 
I am  not  a thinking  man;  I want  to  be  a practical  man.  1 honour  the 
thinking  men;  1 respect  even  the  dreamers.  I am  sure  we  should 
have  but  a poor  and  pitiful  world  of  it  if  it  were  not  for  the  dreamers. 
Their  dreams  of  the  morning  become  our  realities  of  the  afternoon.  ] 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE. 


53 

know  all  that ; but  I haven’t  time,  and  I suppose  I haven’t  patience. 
Anyhow,  1 feel  that  that  isn’t  my  line.  I am  good  lor  nothing  off  the 
firm  ground  of  practical,  commonplace  politics.  Now,  what  I want  to 
know  is  this:  Are  you  and  your  people  on  the  firm  ground  of  practical 
politics?  Is  your  ideal  attainable — in  our  time?  Is  it  within  possible 
reach  in  this  next  generation  or  so?  I don’t  stop  now  to  ask,  is  it  a 
true  ideal  ? — I take  it  on  your  word  that  it  is.  But,  what  are  its  chances 
at  the  present?  What  is  your  following?  What  numbers  are  behind 
you?  What  force  of  intelligence  is  with  you?” 

Masterson’s  bright  eyes  dilated.  His  nervous  fingers  interlaced  as 
he  listened. 

“ Morse,  you  talk  like  a statesman  and  like  a man.  I could  not 
have  asked  for  better,  and  yet  I might  well  have  expected  as  much 
from  you.  All  we  want  is  to  have  our  cause  and  our  capabilities  tried 
and  tested.  All  l want  of  you  is  that  you  should  judge  for  yourself. 
Come  and  study  us;  see  if  we  have  not  the  English  people  behind  us. 
Come  and  see.” 

“ How  can  one  come  and  see?  ” 

“Will  you  talk  with  some  of  our  representative  men?  That  will 
not  put  you  in  any  false  position.” 

“ My  dear  Masterson,  1 don’t  care  one  straw  what  position  I am  put 
into,  false  or  true,  so  long  as  I have  a chance  of  informing  myself  as 
to  the  real  strength  of  any  movement  which  I am  told  is  popular  and 
important.  I am  staking  a good  deal  as  it  is;  I am  not  afraid  to  risk 
a little  more— if  there  is  any  risk.  How  can  I see  your  representative 
people,  and  when?” 

Masterson  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand  and  thought  for  a little; 
then  said,  with  a certain  hesitation — 

“Well,  the  best  time  to  see  some  of  our  best  men  would  be  on  a 
Sunday  evening.  Would  you  mind?  Sunday  is  their  free  day.  You 
see,  Morse,  our  best  men  are  not  swells  or  smart  people.” 

“ My  dear  Masterson,  I know  perfectly  well  that  you  don’t  now  cast 
in  your  lot  with  swells  and  smart  people.  I know  that  you  have 
deliberately  come  out  from  among  the  swells  and  smart  people;  and  I 
don’t  look  much  to  them  for  the  regeneration  of  England.  I want  to 
see  your  men.” 

Masterson’s  eyes  lighted  vith  joy. 

“ The  sooner  the  better ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“The  sooner  the  better,  certaiuly.” 

“ Next  Sunday  evening?” 

“Next  Sunday?”  Morse  said,  thinking  it  out.  “Next  Sunday;  let 
me  see.  Lady  Bettv  keeps  count  of  my  social  engagements  for  me; 
but,  oh  ye>,  I remember.  Next  Sunday,  Paul  ton,  the  new  American 
Minister,  dines  with  us,  and  I take  him  on  to  the  Universe  Club  after- 
wards. That  won’t  be  very  late,  however.  I could  go  with  you  then. 
Do  your  people  mind  sittii  g up  late?” 

“They  would  sit  up  a week  for  the  chance  of  a conference  with 
you,”  said  Masterson,  enthusiastically. 


54 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


“ Well,  now,  look  here ; suppose  you  dine  with  us  on  Sunday.  We’ll 
go  with  Paulton  to  the  Universe  after;  and  then  you  shall  bring  me 
i } meet  pour  friends.” 

Masterson  seized  at  the  proposal. 

“ 1 should  like  that  of  all  ihings.  I should  be  delighted  to  have  a 
lalk  with  Paulton.  I did  meet  him  once,  in  the  Senate  House  at 
Washington,  years  ago.  He  could  tell  me  a lot  of  things  that  I 

pa'ticularly  want  to  know.  But ” and  he  seemed  to  demur. 

“ But,  then,  some  of  your  people  won’t  care  to  meet  me,  Morse,  any 
more.” 

“We  have  only  Paulton  and  a very  few  others — people  you  would 
like  to  meet  and  who  would  like  to  meet  you — on  Sundiy;  it  isn’t 
reallv  a dinner-party.  Even  if  it  were,  what  would  that  matter?” 

“ Well,  one  thinks  that  it  might  perhaps  embarrass  Lady  Betty. 
I am  so  unpopular,  Morse,  in  what  is  called  society,  you  haven’t  an 
idea;  people  of  that  kind  do  so  hate  me ! ” 

“My  dear  fellow,  when,  do  you  think,  did  Lady  Befty  ever  turn  a 
cold  shoulder  to  a man  because  he  was  unpopular?”  Morse  answered, 
a little  impatiently.  “We  don’t  go  in  only  for  smart  people.” 

Master-on  threw  a queer  little  glance  at  his  friend.  “ Lady  Betty 
looks  upon  us  all  as  so  many  play-actors,”  he  said.  “She  composes 
her  social  circle  as  Dore  might  one  of  his  big  pictures.  She  doesn’t 
care  what  we  think  so  long  as  we  make  up  a picturesque  background 
and  don’t  crowd  her  principal  figures.  But  I wonder  what  she’d  say 
if  she  knew  that  we  were  going  to  pull  down  her  pretty  institutions— 
if  she  thought  that  we  were  really  going  to  depose  her  dear  Prince  and 
Princess?  1 fancy  she  might  turn  the  cold  shoulder  on  us  all  then.” 

Morse’s  face  darkened.  He  looked  annoyed,  and  Masterson  was  not 
too  full  of  one  idea  to  see  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  He  went  on 
quickly — 

“ At  any  rate,  Morse,  I’ll  he  here  on  Sunday,  and  Pm  much  obliged 
to  you  for  asking  me.  Then  you  will  come  and  talk  with  my  people. 
Morse,  I am  no  prophet,  but  1 can  see  that  this  may  be  a great  day 
for  England. ” 

He  rose  from  his  sent,  his  eyes  aflame  with  enthusiasm. 

Morse  shook  his  head. 

“Don’t  be  too  sanguine;  don’t  expect  anything  from  me.  You 
know  that  you  have  accused  me  of  having  lately  become  horridly 
practical,  and  unenthusiasdc,  and  calculating.  I don’t  believe  I shall 
be  able  to  go  with  you;  but  it  shan’t  be  said  of  me  that  I refused  to 
hear  what  >ou  have  got  to  say.” 

“Thanks,  thanks;  a thousand  thanks!  That,  is  all  we  could  ask  of 
you  just  yet.  Come  and  see  and  hear.  The  revolution  is  readv.  It 
waits  only  for  the  man  and  the  signal.  You  are  the  man — not  I.  It 
is  mine  to  agitate — not  to  lead.  It  shall  be  yours  to  give  the  signal.” 
He  wrung  Morse’s  hand  in  gratitude,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 
Then  he  abruptly  bade  Morse  good-bye. 

Morse  had  thought  it  more  prudent  not  to  say  anything  to  Master- 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE. 


55 

Bon  about  the  prospect  of  war.  It  would  be  much  better,  he  felt  sure, 
to  find  out  for  himself  in  the  first  instance  what  the  strength  and  what 
the  spirit  and  purpose  of  Masterson’s  puty  might  be,  it,  in  fa  t,  it 
n-ally  was  a political  party  at  all,  or  only  a knot  of  ignorant  enthusiasts 
in  a back  room. 

Masterson  went  off  in  full  delight.  It  was  always  his  way  t<>  think 
anything  gained  which  he  desired  to  see  gained;  and  imw  his  mind  was 
filled  with  the  conviction  that  he  had  only  bring  Morse  face  to  face 
with  his  party  in  order  to  satisfy  Morse  that  the  people  of  England 
w<jre  with  them,  and  that  Morse’s  place  was  at  their  head,  lie  was 
utterly  without  selfish  ambition ; and  having  spent  his  fortune  on  his 
ideas,  it  would  be  the  crown  of  his  life  if  he  might  now  say  to  his 
followers,  “Behold,  I have  brought  you  your  leader;  your  heaven-sent 
leader,  whose  place  it  was  my  duty  for  a time  to  fill.  I have  brought 
you  Sandham  Morse,  and  now  I fall  into  the  ranks.” 

Morse  could  see  all  this  well  enough.  Lie  was  thinking  of  it  as 
he  went  towards  Lord  Forrest’s  house;  he  was  turning  it  over  and 
meditating  on  it  in  his  peculiar  way.  Morse  was  sincere  when  he 
spoke  well  of  the  dreamers.  For  ail  his  practical  training  he  wa>  a 
good  deal  of  a dreamer  himself.  The  moment  the  practical  part  of  his 
mind  went  off  guard,  if  we  may  put  it  in  that  way,  Sandham  Morse 
instantly  relapsed  into  a dreamer.  Tie  had  observed  this  him  sell,  and 
was  amused  by  it  sometimes. 

Lord  Forrest  lived  in  a great  gaunt  old  house  in  a great  gaunt  old 
square.  The  house  looked  somehow  as  if  it  ought  to  be  empty;  like- 
wise as  if  it  ought  to  be  occasionally  visited  by  a ghost.  One  expected 
to  see  a hatchment  upon  it,  and  by  a curious  association  of  ideas  it 
brought  Balzac  and  Thackeray  at  once  to  one’s  mind. 

Lord  Forrest  never  entertained,  never  had  company  of  any  kind 
When  his  son  had  friends  to  dine  with  him — for  Lord  Arden  was 
encouraged  to  amuse  himself  in  any  way  he  pleased — his  father  hardly 
ever  made  one  of  the  company.  When  the  friends  were  very  intimate 
indeed,  Lord  Forrest  sometimes  came  in  after  dinner  and  smoked  a 
cigarette.  Yet  he  was  not  by  any  means  an  ungenial  man,  and  when 
in  the  mood  for  talking  he  was  a very  good  talker.  He  liked  some 
women  very  much;  Lady  Betty,  perhaps,  most  of  all.  He  would 
never  go  to  her  house  when  there  was  any  stranger  there  ; but  he  was 
of  ;en  well  pleased  to  go  and  have  luncheon  with  her  tete-a-tete , or  for 
her  to  come  to  his  house  and  have  luncheon  with  him.  Of  Morse  he 
knew  little  more  than  the  fact  that  he  was  Lady  Betty’s  husband,  and 
was  a very  sincere  and  honourable  man,  but  an  extreme  politician  who 
was  the  idol  and  hope  of  parliamentary  democracy. 

Lord  Forrest  was  looked  up  to  by  everybody  as  a man  of  great 
ability,  and,  apart  from  his  own  peculiar  views,  principles,  and  pre- 
judices, a man  of  great  judgment  and  force  of  character.  His  territorial 
influence  was  vast;  his  political  influence  might  have  been  vast  if  he 
had  chosen  to  keep  it  in  any  manner  of  exercise.  But  he  took  no  part 
m political  life  now ; he  had  altogether  given  up  attending  the  House 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


56 

of  Lords.  He  had  only  once  spoken  in  that  House,  and  that  was  when 
6ome  sudden  and  unexpected  debate  brought  up  a question  concerning 
the  Conservative  party,  its  historical  position,  and  its  foreign  policy; 
then  he  rose  and  spoke  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  astonishing  every 
one  who  heard  him  by  the  singular  power  and  eloquence  which  he  dis- 
played, and  by  his  scorn  alike  for  the  modem  Tory  and  the  modern 
Whig.  There  was  a cold  clearness  about  his  argument  which  reminded 
older  members  of  Lyndhurst,  until  towards  the  end  he  warmed  into  a 
sort  of  half-poetic  impassioned  style  in  denunciation  of  the  foreign 
policy  of  both  parties,  which  recalled  some  of  the  bold  and  thrilling 
bights  of  Lord  Ellenborough.  When  he  sat  down,  every  peer  felt 
convinced  that  a new  and  a great  career  was  opening.  Lord  Arden, 
much  younger  then,  and  just  returned  from  wandering  in  the  South 
Seas,  happened  to  come  in  front  of  the  throne  where  privy  councillors 
and  the  sons  of  peers  are  privileged  to  stand.  He  was  at  once  struck 
with  the  argument,  the  eloquence,  the  style  of  the  speaker.  But  the 
place  was  crowded,  he  could  not  see  well,  and  did  not  know  until  the 
speech  was  done  that  it  was  spoken  by  his  father.  It  was  Morse  who 
told  him ; Morse  was  standing  in  front  of  him.  Since  that  unexpected 
display  Lord  Forrest  had  never  spoken,  and  only  once  appeared  in  the 
House  of  Lords. 

Lord  Forrest  did  not,  however,  discourage  his  son  when  Lord  Arden 
desired  to  become  a member  of  the  House  of  Commons.  He  gave  him, 
indeed,  all  the  help  and  encouragement  he  needed;  but  he  did  not 
afterwards  talk  much  with  him  about  politics  and  his  parliamentary 
career.  Nobody  knew  why  Lord  Forrest  kept  himself  thus  apart  from 
active  life.  People  talked  of  some  great  disappointment  which  had 
come  on  him  ; but  nobody  seemed  to  know  what  it  was  or  to  have  any 
particular  reason  for  believing  that  anything  of  the  kind  had  really 
happened.  Every  one  knew  that  he  detested  both  the  great  political 
parties,  and  that  he  denied  the  right  of  the  reigning  family  to  sit  on 
the  English  throne.  He  was  still  a devoted  adherent  of  the  Stuart 
cause.  Lord  Forrest,  be  it  understood,  was  not  merely  a sane  man, 
but  a man  of  sound  sense  and  clear  understanding.  He  was  well  aware 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  living  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  that  the 
lineal  descendant  of  the  last  Stuart  king  no  longer  looked  on  the  earth. 
He  had  neither  hope  nor  purpose  of  dethronii  g the  reigning  family. 
But  he  denied  that  because  he  lived  in  the  nineteenth  century  he  was 
bound  to  accept  all  the  nineteenth  century’s  ways;  and  he  refused  to 
see  that  because  a certain  dynasty  was  firmly  established  on  the  throne 
he  was  coj  demned  to  allow  it  to  become  established  also  in  his  con- 
science. Therefore  he  refused  to  join  in  any  acknowledgment  of  a 
revolution  which  he  believed  to  have  been  impious,  or  of  a throne 
which  he  believed  to  be  set  up  in  opposition  to  divine  precept.  A 
wrong  he  insisted  was  a wrong  always.  There  w^as  no  statute  of 
limitation  to  give  it  legal  sanction.  A tolerant  man  as  regarded  others, 
he  was  rigid  in  ruling  himself;  and  he  would  not  conform  to  the  ways 
of  the  time.  So  he  lived  his  own  life  apart.  He  travelled,  he  read, 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE, 


57 

he  enjoyed  scenery  and  skies,  and  sunrises  and  sunsets ; he  loved  art 
and  antiquities  and  curios  ; he  was  singularly  well  acquainted  with 
history  and  with  literature;  he  was  a linguist  and  even  a scholar, 
reading  new  books  as  well  as  old,  and  not  scorning  even  to  read  the 
daily  papers ; but  for  the  rest  living  his  own  life  almost  as  completely 
as  though  he  were  a hermit  in  the  Thebaid. 

As  Morse  came  up  to  Lord  Forrest’s  heavy  stone  portico  and  was 
about  to  ring,  the  door  opened,  and  Lord  Arden  came  out.  The  young 
man,  who,  notwithstanding  his  occasional  diatribes  against  social  shams, 
was  shy  like  his  father,  slightly  coloured  on  seeing  Morse. 

They  exchanged  a word  or  two  of  formal  civility.  “I  know  my 
father  is  expecting  you,”  Arden  said ; “ he  is  in  his  study.  You  don’t 
know  the  way,  perhaps.  Let  me  show  it  to  you.” 

He  showed  Morse  the  way  and  then  left  him. 

“That  young  man  doesn’t  like  me,”  Morse  said  to  himself.  “I 
know  it.”  He  would  rather,  somehow,  that  Lord  Arden  had  not  seen 
him  there,  and  had  not  known  anything  of  his  coming.  “Of  course 
he  will  tell  Betty  he  saw  me  here,  and  she  will  wonder  why  I came 
here,  and  what  I could  want  of  old  Forrest — who  is  fond  of  her,  but 
never  made  the  smallest  approach  to  me ; and  I couldn’t  make  it  all 
clear  to  her.  She  wouldn’t  understand  me.” 

All  this  crossed  his  mind  in  the  few  seconds  which  passed  while  he 
was  entering  Lord  Forrest’s  study.  He  had  never  been  there  before, 
and  just  now  his  mind  was  too  full  of  anxious  thought  for  him  to 
observe  the  indications  the  room  gave  of  the  virtuoso  and  man  of 
letters.  Lord  Forrest’s  study  suggested  a combination  of  the  Hotel 
Cluny  and  the  library  of  some  old  Italian  palace,  It  was  full  of 
curiosities,  rare  hooks,  old  miniatures,  and  bric-a-brac  arranged  with 
the  loving  care  of  a connoisseur,  if  not  the  taste  of  a woman.  The 
furniture  was  all  beautiful  and  quaint,  some  of  it  inlaid,  none  of  a later 
date  than  the  Regency.  On  the  mantelpiece  was  a clock  by  Bouehier, 
unique  of  its  kind.  Here  was  a wrought  iron  frame  with  a medallion 
likeness  in  repousse  silver  of  Marie  Antoinette;  there  a Catherine  II. 
gold  snuff-box,  with  enamel  paintings  by  Van  Blarenberghe,  which 
had  been  bought  out  of  a celebrated  collection.  Lord  Forrest  was 
standing  before  a plaque  of  Gubbio  ware  painted  v\ith  a Madonna,  gor- 
geous in  colour,  full  of  gold  lustre  and  the  inimitable  ruby  red,  the 
undoubted  work  of  Maestro  Georgio,  as  seemed  conveyed  by  the  delicate 
satisfaction  with  which  its  owner  contemplates  it. 

Lord  Forrest  turned  as  his  visitor  entered.  He  wras  a tall,  stooping, 
but  stately  old  man,  with  a small  white  beard,  peaked  in  a fashion 
that  suggested  the  wearing  of  an  Elizabethan  ruff.  His  hands  were 
very  small  and  white,  and  somewhat  shrivelled.  His  eyes  were  a deep 
dark,  contrasting  curiously  with  his  white  hair  and  beard  and  eyebrows. 
The  eyes  did  not  seem  those  of  a man  born  to  be  a recluse  and  a 
dreamer,  although  the  shy,  reserved,  almost  shrinking  manner  would 
have  given  evidence  to  any  keen  observer  of  the  sort  of  life  which  had 
for  years  been  contracting  round  that  wasted  face  and  figure.  Lord 


* THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


58 

Forrest  came  forward  with  dignified  cordiality,  and  addressed  some 
welcoming  phrases  to  his  guest — at  first  with  a perceptible  hesitation, 
which  he  conquered  and  banished  by  an  equally  perceptible  effort. 
Then  he  spoke  with  great  deliberation  and  distinctness,  every  syllable 
falling  on  the  ear  like  the  sound  of  a drop  of  water. 

“I  am  much  honoured  by  a visit  from  Mr.  Morse.  I do  not  say 
this  merely,  Mr.  Morse;  I feel  it.  I feel,  too,  that  I ought  to  have 
put  myself  more  often  in  the  way  of  seeing  the  husband  of  a very  dear 
young  friend.  But  I am  a strange  and  lonely  man,  Mr.  Morse,  and 
my  odd  habits  grow  on  me.” 

Morse’s  answering  smile  seemed  peculiarly  sweet,  because  when  he 
was  approaching  the  old  peer  there  was  something  commanding  in  his 
air,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  more  than  usually  resolute. 

“ I am  much  obliged  to  you,  Lord  Forrest,”  he  said.  “ I know  of 
your  ways  from  my  wife;  and  if  I didn’t,  I should  feel  rather  more 
courage  than  I do  with  regard  to  the  object  of  my  visit.” 

Lord  Forrest  bowed  and  seated  himself,  motioning  Morse  to  a chair 
and  waiting  for  him  to  go  on. 

“May  I ask,  Lord  Forrest,  that  you  will  consider  as  strictly  private 
what  I may  say  to  you — in  the  event  of  your  not  seeing  your  way  to 
agree  to  what  I propose?” 

Lord  Forrest’s  impassive  look  changed  for  a moment  to  one  of  alert 
interest.  Then  he  became  coldly  dignified  again. 

“I  readily  give  that  promise.  No  one  who  has  heard  anything  of 
Mr.  Morse  can  suppose  he  is  a man  to  seek  out  or  to  offer  unnecessary 
confidences.” 

Morse  paused  a moment,  and  looked  steadily  at  his  companion. 

“ Thanks,  very  much.  I shall  come  straight  to  the  point.  You  are 
not  fond  of  much  talking  any  more  than  I am.  Look  here,  Lord 
Forrest,  you  do  not  mix  much  in  the  active  world,  but  you  love  your 
country,  her  people,  her  honour,  and  her  interest?” 

“Very  dearly;  you  do  me  no  more  than  justice.”  Lord  Forrest  did 
not  express  the  slightest  impatience  in  look,  gesture,  or  word.  He 
did  not  seem  as  if  he  wi  lied  to  ask,  “ What  is  all  this  coming  to?” 

“Very  well.  You  are  not  content  with  the  present  condition  of 
things  in  England?” 

“Far  from  it.  Who  that  loved  England  could  watch  her  decay 
with  content?” 

“ You  see,  of  course,  that  we  are  drifting  into  a great  war,  and  that 
we  are  in  the  wrong? ” 

“ I cannot  help  seeing  it.”  Lord  Forrest  bent  a little  forward,  his 
voice  took  a sharper  tone.  “I  see  it  with  pain.  I must  say  also,  Mr. 
Morse,  your  people  were  drifting  into  a war  just  as  much  as  these  men 
now  in  office.” 

“ I know  it ; I admit  it  to  the  full.  That  is  the  curse  of  the  present 
system.  Our  fellows  wanted  to  be  popular.  These  fellows  in  now 
want  to  go  one  better.  They  will  provoke  a war,  I firmly  believe* 
before  the  elections,  if  th<  y can,  in  order  to  keep  in  office.” 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE. 


59 

“Yes;  I dare  say.  It  is  a shame  and  a scandal.  But  I have  no 
doubt  your  forecast  of  the  situation  is  perfectly  just.” 

“ You  know,”  continued  Morse,  “ how  easily  a war  spirit  can  be  got 
into  force.  Some  snub  to  our  ambassador,  some  scrimmage  on  a frontier, 
a few  leading  articles  about  the  flag  of  England,  and  there  you  are ! 
We  shall  have  the  man  in  the  streets  shrieking  about  the  honour  of 
England,  and  the  bald  clerk  on  the  top  of  the  Islington  omnibus  insist- 
ing that  the  Ministry  must  declare  war  or  resign.” 

Lord  Forrest  smiled  a faint  smile. 

“ Mr.  Morse,  for  a Radical,  doesn’t  seem  quite  a believer  in  the  super- 
human intelligence  of  the  lower  middle  class  ” he  said. 

“I  don’t  believe  in  the  superhuman  intelligence  of  any  class.  But 
in  this  instance  1 am  sure  the  working  men  are  all  right,  and  I fancy 
the  best  of  your  class,  L<  >rd  Forrest,  are  right  enough  also.  '1  he  ques- 
tion is,  can  we  act  together  ? ” 

Lord  Forrest  stroked  his  pointed  beard  with  one  thin  nervous  hand. 

“ I am  sure  I should  have  no  objection.  I hope,  Mr.  Morse,  you 
don’t  think  I have  any  paltry  prejudice  against  the  working  class,  or 
any  disinclination  to  go  heart  and.  hand  with  them  ? I mean,  of  course, 
if  there  were  anything  I could  do,  which  there  is  not,  I am  afraid.” 

“Yes;  there  is  something  you  can  do,”  Morse  said  bluntly. 

“ What  is  that,  pray  ? ” 

“ Go  down  to  the  House  of  Lords,  make  a speech— moving  for  papers 
or  asking  a question,  or  anything  of  the  kind.  Denounce  the  policy 
which  is  now  conspiring  to  make  a war  in  order  to  keep  in  office. 
You  will  find  the  best  men  in  the  army  and  navy  with  you,  for  they 
know — who  could  know  so  well? — that  we  are  not  prepared  for  war. 
We  will  support  you— my  Radical  working  men.  I will  strike  the 
same  note  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  it  shall  be  echoed  from  a 
hundred  platforms.  Between  us  we  shall  kill  that  war,  and  perhaps 
the  sort  of  policy  which  engenders  it.” 

Lord  Forrest  was  silent  for  a moment. 

“ Have  you  considered,  Mr.  Morse,  what  responsibility  they  would 
take  on  themselves — when  the  general  elections  were  over,  1 mean — 
who  had  killed  that  war  policy  ? ” 

“ I have ; of  course,  1 have.  I should  never  have  come  to  see  you 
if  I had  not.  If  we  fight  the  elections  on  this  platform,  and  if  we  win, 
then  we  must  take  the  responsibility.  You  must  form  an  Administra- 
tion, utterly  independent  of  party.  I will  support  you — I will  join 
you,  if  you  like.” 

The  two  men  looked  straight  into  each  other’s  eyes.  Lord  Forrest 
was  startled.  Yet  he  evidently  did  not  wish  to  show  how  strongly  the 
proposition  had  affected  him.  His  face  would  have  been  a curious 
study.  He  did  not  speak.  One  elbow  was  resting  upon  a table  beside 
his  chair.  He  made  a movement  and  a little  silver  patch-box  on  tho 
table  rolled  to  the  ground.  He  picked  it  up  before  he  answered. 

“Ia  Prime  Minister ! ” he  said  at  last.  “ I think,”  he  added  slowly 
“that  at  this  crisis  England  needs  a stronger  bulwark*” 


6o 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


Morse  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  by  the  hearth.  “ Are  we  not,* 
he  began  with  energy,  not  heeding  Lord  Forrest’s  protest — “ are  we 
not  despised  abroad,  and  miserable  at  home?  Have  we  not  drifted 
into  a policy  of  petty,  paltry,  never-ending  wars  with  wretched  half- 
civilized  races,  whom  we  massacre,  no  one  knows  why  ? Are  not  our 
people  at  home  cruelly  taxed  and  miserably  poor  ? Isn’t  trade  pining? 
is  not  agriculture  ruined?  Is  there  not  a social  revolution  seething 
around  us  and  beneath  us  ? Have  we  not  a horde  of  the  poor  in  every 
quarter  and  every  street,  who,  if  they  could  only  find  a common  watch- 
wor.l  and  make  a common  cause,  would  sweep  off  the  face  of  the  earth 
the  wretched  sham  we  call  our  civilization?  Are  not  these  things 
true  ? Do  I exaggerate  ? ” 

“These  things  are  true— too  true;  and  you  do  not  exaggerate,  not 
in  the  least.  But  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ? whom  do  you 
blame?” 

“ Lord  Forrest,  I blame  you,  and  I blame  myself,  and  I blame  every 
man  who  has  any  influence  in  this  sinking  country  and  does  not  exert 
his  influence  to  put  a stop  to  the  wretched  system  of  party  govern- 
ment which  m>kes  the  fate  of  a whole  people  only  a stepping-stone  to 
office.  The  mass  of  the  people  must  be  brought  into  touch  with  the 
Government  before  anything  can  be  done  for  the  prosperity  or  the 
honour  of  this  country.  Well,  l have,  of  course,  ideas  of  my  own 
which  I couldn’t  expect  you  or  any  man  of  your  class  to  share.  I 
have  lived  and  been  an  active  politician  in  the  United  States  and  in 
some  of  our  colonies;  and  I have  got  to  understand  the  value  of 
government  by  the  people.  I am  a republican  in  principle,  Lord 
Forrest ; but  I haven’t  come  to  talk  to  you  about  that.  I have  come 
with  quite  a afferent  idea — just  to  fight  against  this  criminal  scheme 
of  war.  1 am  pretty  strong,  I think,  with  what  we  may  call  ‘ the 
people*  for  want  of  any  better  description.  It  sounds  too  like  a phrase 
from  a Radical  stump-orator  or  a Radical  Sunday  paper;  but  it  con- 
veys a distinct  meaning.  I am  very  strong  with  the  people,  and  after 
the  next  elections  shall  be  much  stronger.  Very  well ! You  are  very 
strong  with  the  aristocracy,  or  could  be,  if  you  liked.  I pat  aside  my 
own  ideas  for  the  present,  and  I ask  you,  Will  you  join  with  me  and 
help  me  to  secure  peace  for  England,  and  with  peace  the  inestimable 
blessing  of  a Government  which  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  party, 
and  will  at  least  govern  the  country  for  the  people  until  the  time  comes 
when  it  can  be  safely  governed  by  the  people  ? ” 

Morse  said  all  this  in  a low,  deep  tone,  with  no  gesture  of  any  kind ; 
the  intensity  of  his  earnestness  only  showing  itself  in  his  eyes  and  in 
a certain  quivering  of  the  veins  in  his  strong  hands.  He  had  stood  up 
when  he  was  beginning  to  speak,  but  it  suddenly  seemed  to  him  as  if 
to  talk  standing  up  had  too  much  of  a theatrical  aspect,  and,  after 
a minute,  he  quietly  resumed  his  seat  and  went  on  with  what  he  had 
to  say. 

Again  Lord  Forrest  stroked  his  beard  as  if  in  deep  thought,  and  his 
white  brows  bent  over  his  dark  eyes,  which  gazed  fixedly  at  the  Gubbio 


RED  CAP  AND  WHITE  COCKADE.  61 

Madonna,  their  lustre  encouraging  Morse  to  hope  that  he  had  inspired 
the  recluse  with  thoughts  of  action. 

“Are  you  really  serious,  Mr.  Morse?  Do  you  really  ask  me — me, 
of  all  men  in  the  world — to  go  into  public  life  and  to  take  part  in  a 
Government  ? ” 

“ Precisely,  Lord  Forrest ; that  is  what  I do  ask  you  to  do.  In  all 
your  class  you  are  the  only  man  who  could  do  what  I want  done. 
You  were  never  a professional  politician ; all  who  know  you  or  any- 
thing of  you  Avould  trust  you  to  the  full.  The  people,  as  I call  them, 
think  highly  of  you,  the  poor  all  adore  your  son  ; your  great  ability  is 
known  everywhere,  and  it  is  all  the  better  that  it  hasn’t  been  shredded 
away  in  a life  of  political  struggle.” 

Lord  Forrest  made  a gesture  of  deprecation.  Morse  went  on,  “ Only 
tell  me  to-day  that  you  are  willing  to  take  the  lead  of  an  Administra- 
tion which  is  to  have  no  concern  with  party,  and  I will  tell  all  those 
over  whom  I have  any  influence  that  they  are  best  serving  their 
country  when  they  insist  on  putting  you  at  the  head  of  affairs.  All 
the  strength  I have  shall  be  yours.  If  you  desire  it,  and  will  accept 
my  services,  I will  serve  under  you.  Come,  Lord  Forrest,  think  it 
over,  at  least.  The  peoj  le  of  this  country  do  not  wholly  hate  and 
despise  their  own  aristocracy — yet.  Let  them  come  together;  give 
them  a chance.  You  are  the  only  man  who  can  do  it.” 

Lord  Forrest  rose  abruptly,  and  made  a few  paces  forward  and  back 
again.  Morse  remained  waiting  the  effect  of  his  words. 

“Mr.  Morse,  1 am,  I might  almost  say,  bewildered.  You  are  a 
leading  man  in  politics,  a practical  man,  a man  of  great  ability  and 
influence.  What  you  say  must,  therefore,  have  something  in  it  worth 
the  attention  of  any  one;  and  yet  I cannot  undei stand  all  this. 
Remember  that  I have  never  taken  any  part  in  politics.  1 know 
nothing  of  the  management  of  public  business.” 

“ That  is  exactly  why  we  wane  you.” 

“ We  ? Are  there  others  ? ” 

“ Yes.  I have  not  ventured  to  make  this  appeal  to  you  on  my  own 
part  merely.  I did  not  think  it  right  to  sj  eak  to  you  until  I could  be 
certain  that  I spoke  lor  others  as  well,  and  that  1 could  give  you  all 
the  strength  and  support  I am  now  able  to  offer.  I can  offer  to  you, 
Lord  Forrest— to  you,  who  are,  I believe,  in  principle,  a strong 
reactionary— the  supi  ort  of  the  great  mass  of  the  democratic  party  in 
this  country.  They  look  to  you,  not  as  a reactionary,  but  as  a high- 
minded  man  ; as  a man  of  commanding  abilities  and  influence;  a man 
of  authority.  We  are  sick  of  party  government.  We  believe  it  has 
degraded  us  and  weakened  us;  kept  our  poor  poor,  and  our  ignorant 
ignorant.  We  ask  you  to  try  a better  system,  and  we  say  that, 
reactionary  though  you  be,  we,  the  tree  democrats,  will  trust  in  you 
and  give  you  our  most  cordial  support,  and  call  for  you  from  every 
platform  in  the  country.” 

“ And  you,  Mr.  Morse,”  Lord  Forrest  said,  with  a grave  and 
gracious  smile,  “you  declare  yourself  willing  to  take  office  with  me 


62 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


in  an  Administration;  yon,  who  people  say  have  only  to  wait  for 
the  general  elections  to  become  the  Radical  Prime  Minister  ? ” 

“ I am  willing  to  take  office  with  you,  under  you,  to  take  any  office, 
and  to  postpone  my  Radical  purposes  until  we  shall  first  have  saved 
the  State.” 

“ 1 wonder  how  many  of  my  friends  would  believe  this  if  they  were 
to  hear  of  it  on  any  authority  but  that  of  you  or  me?  Now,  Mr. 
Morse,  I will  answer  you.  Well,  I cannot  but  feel  greatly  compli- 
mented and  gre  itly  honoured  bv  what  you  have  said  of  me,  and  by  the 
confidence  which  you  are  willing  to  place  in  me.  But  you  have  over- 
lated  ai together  my  abilities  and  my  influence.  I am  quite  unequal 
to  a part  such  as  that  which  you  are  kind  enough  to  think  I still  might 
play.  Twenty  years  ago;  ten  years  ago  ; perhaps  even  five  years  ago 
I might  have  had  the  mental  and  bodily  strength ; I might  even  have 
had  some  of  the  inclination,  Mr.  Morse ; but  then,  as  now,  there  would 
have  been  one  insuperable  difficulty.” 

“ I have  heard  something  of  that,”  Morse  said;  “but  surely,  Lord 
Forrest,  a mere  scruple,  a sort  of  punctilio,  of  that  kind,  is  hardly 
serious  enough  to  prevent  a patriotic  Englishman  from  doing  a duty  to 
his  country  ?” 

“ It  is  not  a scruple  or  a punctilio  with  me,  Mr.  Morse ; it  is  a set 
and  fixed  principle.  I can  hold  no  office  under  a dynasty  made  by  a 
revolution.  I respect  the  reigning  sovereign  for  her  personal  virtue 
and  her  great  good-will  to  her  people  ; I respect  all  her  family  because 
of  my  respect  for  her : but  I cannot  in  my  conscience  do  any  act  of 
homage  or  recognition  to  the  House  of  Hanover.  It  is  impossible,  Mr. 
Morse.  I am  not  an  opportunist.” 

“Nor  I,”  Morse  said  almost  roughly;  “hut  surely  we  must  take 
realities  as  we  find  them.  Here  is  the  House  of  Hanover ; we  have 
nothing  to  put  in  its  place.” 

“No?  1 had  always  understood  that  Mr.  Morse  would,  if  he  could, 
put  something  in  its  place  ? ” 

“A  republic?  Ye*,  Lord  Forrest,  certainly,  with  all  my  heart ; I 
would  if  I could.  But  I don’t  see  much  chance  just  at  the  moment, 
and  in  the  meantime  I think  we  must  do  the  b.st  we  can  for  the 
country  with  the  means  at  our  hand.” 

“ Your  case  is  different,  mine  admits  of  no  argument.  You  are 
young,  you  are  strong;  you  have  your  place  and  your  work  in  politics; 
you  are  a distinct  power  and  an  influence.  Even  in  my  hermit  life  I 
find  some  sound  of  your  career  borne  in  upon  my  ea  s every  now  and 
then,  as  a lonely  man  in  a study  or  an  invalid  in  his  bed  might  h^ar 
the  sounds  of  a military  hand  marching  past.  You  may  well  think 
you  are  bound  to  make  the  best  of  things  as  they  are.  But  I have  no 
call  to  politics;  I have  given  np  all  place  in  political  life.  I do  not 
feel  that  I have  any  “mission,”  if  I may  use  that  rather  grandiloquent 
word.  I do  not  believe  I have  any  longer  the  capacity  to  do  any 
real  service  to  the  country.  1 don’t  believe  I,  or  you  and  I together, 
could  prevent  this  war ; and  I may  safely  indulge  my  scruples,  even  if 


KOORALI  AND  HER  REEDS . 63 

they  were  no  more  than  scruples.  No,  Mr.  Morse;  it  cannot  be. 
Deeply  as  I feel  the  honour  you  have  done  me,  I must  refuse.” 

“1  am  sorr>,”  Morse  said  bluntly,  and  he  got  up. 

“But  you  are  not  sorry  that  you  have  c<>me  to  see  me,  I hope? 
You  are  disappointed,  no  doubt;  but  not  sorry  that  we  have  had  this 
talk  together?” 

“Certainly  not,  Lord  Forrest;  and  I don’t  know  that  T am  even 
disappointed;  f»r  1 did  not  really  expect  that  I should  be  able  to  pre- 
vail on  you.  But  I thought  i would  do  my  best,  and  at  least  leave  no 
stone  unturned.” 

“ I am  very  glad  we  have  met,”  Lord  Forrest  said,  rising ; “ we 
understand  each  other — for  the  first  time.  I have  heard  you  spoken  of 
as  an  ambitious  and  self-seeking  man.  I now  see  that  you  are  a patri- 
otic Englishman;  1 respect  you;  and  I shall  always  believe  in  you, 
whatever  tongues  may  speak  against  you.” 

They  parted  without  many  more  words.  Morse  went  away  much 
impressed  by  the  futile  chivalry,  the  heroic  scruples,  the  inflexible, 
hopeless  purpose  of  the  old  man ; the  last  surviving  champion  of  the 
Jacobite  lost  cause ; the  man  who  was  faithful  to  its  memory  when 
nothing  but  a memory  of  the  vaguest  kind  was  left.  It  had  been  an 
effort  to  him  to  make  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Lord  Forrest,  whom  he 
only  knew  through  Lady  Betty,  and  of  whom  he  knew  that  Lord 
Forrest  would  not  have  him  Lady  Betty’s  husband  if  he  could.  Truth 
to  say,  Morse  felt  sometimes  a little  “sat  upon  ” by  his  wife's  royal 
friends  and  noble  relatives;  and  a little  inclined  to  let  the  spirit  of 
republican  democracy  rise  up  within  him  in  aggressive  self-assertion. 
But  he  stifled  his  objections,  and  he  sought  an  interview  with  Lord 
Forrest  in  the  honest  belief  that  it  would  be  well  for  the  country  if 
a Ministry  on  a new  principle  could  be  formed  under  such  a man,  and 
would  speak  bravely  out  for  peace. 

“Well,  I have  done  my  best,”  he  thought;  “and  now  I am  free 
again  to  walk  my  own  way.  I must  see  whether  there  is  anything  to 
come  of  Masterson  and  his  democrats.  I doubt  if  they  have  any 
stiengtb  behind  them;  but  let  us  see.  I wish  to  Heaven  it  could  be 
made  to  appear  th«t  Masterson  is  not  the  crazy  fanatic  eve>y  one  says 
he  is.  But  even  if  everybody  is  right,  1 shall  have  done  no  harm  by 
giving  my  old  friend  a chance  of  proving  that  everybody  was  wrong.” 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

KOORALI  AND  HER  REEDS. 

Morse  then  turned  in  the  direction  of  Koorah’s  house.  He  was  going 
to  make  his  first  call  on  her.  Even  if*  he  had  been  likely  to  forget  his 
engagement  it  could  not  have  gone  out  of  his  mind,  f«>r  that  morning, 
as  "he  was  leaving  the  house,  Lady  Betty  herself  asked  him  to  call  at 
Mrs.  Ken  way’s,  and  ask  her  to  come  to  dinner  in  a friendly  way,  and 


"THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


64 

then  go  with  Lady  Betty  to  one  of  Mr.  Whistler’s  ten  o’clock  lectures. 
But  Morse  would  not  have  forgotten  in  any  case.  He  was  much 
interested  in  Koorali ; more  perhaps  than  he  really  knew  ; more  at  least 
than  he  actually  thought  of.  To  certain  men  a woman  is  sometimes 
like  a strain  »>f  music,  accompanying  without  consciousness  on  their 
part  all  the  movements  of  their  minds.  One  sits  at  his  desk  and  is 
writing,  and  all  the  time  some  sweet  soft  notes  of  distant  music  breathe 
into  his  ear  and  his  soul,  and  poeticize  his  commonplace  prosaic  work 
in  a way  of  which  he  is  hardly  conscious  or  not  conscious  at  all.  So 
it  was  with  Morse  just  now.  The  Koorali  music-note  was  with  him 
while  he  was  arguing  with  Lord  Forre>t  and  when  listening  to  Master- 
son.  It  was  with  him  as  he  walked  through  the  hurrying  noisy 
streets,  and  thought  of  the  approaching  political  struggle  and  the  part 
he  might  have  to  play.  Morse  was  in  many  ways  a lonely  sort  of 
man.  Perhaps  he  was  too  busy  to  have  time  to  be  anything  but 
lonely  ; for  he  was  capable  of  close  companionship  and  warm  affection. 
T\  he  truth  was  he  did  not  stop  to  think  much  about  companionships  ; 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  from  his  wife  all  the  affection  that  a man  of 
the  world  is  entitled  to,  or  could  want,  or  could  know  what  to  do  with. 
To-day  somehow  he  felt  younger  and  not  quite  lonely. 

Koorali  was  alone.  He  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room.  The 
windows,  back  and  front,  stood  open,  and,  though  it  was  London, 
there  was  a gentle  sighing  breeze,  and  summer’s  breath  still  filled  the 
place.  The  light  was  soft,  however,  shaded  by  outside  blinds.  He 
could  not  associate  her  with  broad  hard  noonday.  She  was  too  tender, 
too  sweetly  serious,  too  poetic.  This  fancy  glanced  through  his  mind 
as  his  eye  fell  uj  on  her  standing  by  a basket  of  reeds  and  bulrushes — 
rough,  country,  sedgy  things — and  a mass  of  ox-eyed  daisies.  She 
wore  a white  dress  that  clung  about  her  as  her  draperies  had  a 
way  of  clinging;  and  the  sleeves  fell  back  from  her  little  white  arms 
raised  to  adjust  the  bulrushes  in  a vase  almost  as  tall  as  herself.  She 
looked  very  small,  because  of  her  slenderness,  and  her  face  might  have 
been  that  of  a thoughtful  child.  Imagination  draws  rapid  sketches 
and  de  ights  in  contrasts.  A vivid  mental  picture  seemed  to  alternate 
with  the  actual  one — curiously  unlike,  and  vet  like.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  flowers  that  suggested  that  great  mass  of  exotics  before  which 
Lady  Betty  had  stood  the  night  before,  and  Lady  Betty  herself,  also 
slender  and  small  of  head,  in  her  red  brocade,  with  her  pretty  frivolity 
and  girlish  laugh,  sweetest  flower  in  the  hot-house  of  society. 

Koorali  left  her  reeds  and  daisies  as  he  entered.  She  gave  him  her 
hand.  The  conventional  phiases  followed.  It  wTas  kind  of  him  to 
come — so  soon.  She  w7as  glad  to  be  at  home.  Her  husband  was  in 
the  house  somewhere.  And  she  made  a movement  tow  a ds  the  bell. 

But  he  interposed  with  little  ceremony.  The  conventional  phrases 
jarred. 

“ Don’t  let  Mr.  Ken  way  be  disturbed — at  all  events  not  just  yet 
And  please  go  on  arranging  your  flowers.  I should  like  to  watch  you. 
It  will  do  me  good.” 


KOORALI  AND  HER  REEDS. 


65 

“ Why  ?”  she  asked  seriously,  and  went  back  to  her  reeds.  He  put 
down  his  hat,  and  came  near  to  her,  leaning  over  the  end  of  the 
grand  piano,  which  served  her  as  a table. 

“Why?”  he  repeated,  with  his  grave  sweet  smile,  and  a gesture 
that  seemed  to  indicate  freedom  to  take  breath.  “Because  it’s 
Australian,  and  fresh  and  natural.  Because  I’m  a little  tired,  1 think, 
of  the  glare  and  noise  of  life  in  London;  the  political  situation — I have 
been  facing  it  this  morning ; and  the  baying  of  the  war-whelps  and 
clashing  of  cymbals  in  drawing-rooms.  It’s  a relief  arid  a pleasure  to  I 
see  that  there  are  such  things  as  bulrushes  and  daisies — they  ought 
to  be  wattle-bloom  and  scrub-jasmine  for  you.  You  see,  Mrs.  Kenway, 
that  I really  haven’t  come  to  pay  a duty  call,  and  to  talk  ‘ the  fine 
weather,’  as  last  night  you  seemed  half  afraid  I meant  to  do.” 

His  words  chimed  with  her  fancy  about  him  on  the  previous  even- 
ing. This  was  one  of  the  moments  when  he  stood  back  from  the 
footlights.  A thrill  of  pleasure  shot  through  her  that  in  her  presence 
he  should  be  different  from  the  statesman  Morse,  whom  the  world 
knew ; the  strong-willed,  daring,  patient,  iconoclastic  leader  of  a new 
democracy. 

“ I knew  you  would  not  talk  ‘ the  fine  weather,’  ” she  said. 

“We  didn’t  do  so  even  the  first — the  only  time  in  Australia  that 
we  met ; and  I suppose  it  is  just  that  which  makes  me  want  to  get  off 
the  conventional  track  now,”  he  said.  “I  came  really  to  talk  about 
you  yourself,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  and  about  South  Britain.  You  haven’t 
made  it  a repub. ic  yet!  ” 

“ Nor  have  you  made  Great  Britain  a republic,  Mr.  Morse.” 

“ The  one  may  come  to  mean  the  other,”  he  returned. 

There  was  some  talk  about  a measure  for  enabling  the  Australian 
colonies  to  form  a federation  with  England. 

“I  don't  like  it,”  Morse  sail  abruptly.  “I  think  I ought  to  oppose 
that  bill.  Of  course  it's  only  permissive,  and  the  colonies  may  fairly 
be  allowed  to  do  as  they  like.  But  1 don’t  see  why  they  should  go  into 
a federation  with  the  old  country.” 

“Nor  I,”  Koorali  said  hastily,  and  then  stopped,  as  if  she  ought  not 
to  have  expressed  an  opinion. 

“ I would  rather  have  small  States  if  one  could,”  Morse  went  on. 

“ I think  human  character  comes  out  better.  But  we  can’t  help  the 
agglomeration  of  States  I suppose;  it’s  the  fashion  now.  Only  I don’t 
see  what  your  Australian  colonies  are  likely  to  get  from  a federation 
but  some  of  the  taults  of  the  old  State.  Look  at  that  war  the  other 
day  that  we  were  engaged  in.  Nine  out  of  every  ten  Englishmen 
here  at  home  said  in  private  that  it  was  a blunder  and  a crime ; said 
it  and  believed  it.  Your  Australian  colonists  send  us  men  to  carry 
on  the  war;  free  colonists  lending  their  helping  hand  to  murder  poor 
Arabs  for  defending  their  country  against  an  inexcusable  invasion. 
That’s  what  you  will  get  by  federation.” 

“I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,”  Koorali  exclaimed,  with  kind- 
ling eyes.  “ I was  bitterly  grieved  to  hear  that  any  of  our  colonists 


66 


"THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


could  lend  a hand  in  such  a cruel  and  shameful  war,  hut  every  one 
was  against  me.”  She  was  thinking  especially  of  lier  husband’s  wild 
exultation  over  the  warlike  ardour  of  the  colonists.  ‘‘And  of  course  I 
didn't  know  much  about  it;  and  I was  almost  afraid  to  open  my 
mouth.” 

“ Yuur  instincts  led  you  the  right  way,”  Morse  said.  “I  should 
have  known  how  you  felt  if  you  hidn’t  told  me.” 

Koorali  could  not  help  remembering  her  husband's  utter  amazement 
when  he  found  that  she  did  not  share  his  opinions  and  his  enthusiasm. 

“ I .should  like  to  hear  what  you  say  in  the  House  of  Commons,” 
she  said  timidly,  “about  the  bill.” 

“If  I should  speak,”  Morse  answered,  “I  will  let  you  know  in  good 
time;  and  I will  get  you  a place  in  the  ladies’  gallery.  But  it  may 
not  come  on  at  all  this  session  perhaps.” 

Then  they  let  that  subject  drop. 

“ Tell  me,”  he  said.  “ You  were  going  to  your  kingdom  when  I 
met  you  that  time.  Was  it  a happy  reign?  Don’t  you  remember, 
you  wished  to  be  a ‘heart-queen?’  Weil— were  you?  Was  the 
crown  one  of  roses  ? ” 

The  phrase  she  had  used  and  which  had  struck  his  fancy  occurred 
to  him  at  the  moment.  He  had  a half-wish  to  convey  a delicate 
compliment  by  its  repetition.  But  the  compliment  passed  unnoticed. 
Koorali  answered  with  gentle  gravity. 

“ The  reign  did  not  last  long.” 

“ How  was  that  ? ” he  asked.  “ Your  father  remained  in  office.” 

“ Yes,  for  some  time.  But  he  married.” 

“ And  his  wife  took  your  place  1 Your  stepmother.  Ah ! — yes, 

I see.” 

There  was  involuntarily  a tragic  note  in  Morse’s  exclamation.  He 
seemed  to  understand  it  all  now.  His  heart  was  filled  with  pity  for 
the  young  ignorant  creature,  deposed  by  an  unwelcome  stepmother, 
slighted  perhaps,  and  to  whom  a husband  had  represented  liberty  and 
a refuge.  He  longed  to  ask  her  some  questions  about  her  marriage, 
hut  restrained  the  impulse. 

“ 1 have  a very  tender  memory  of  South  Britain,”  he  said.  “At 
this  moment  it  seems  but  yesterday  that  1 watched  the  little  steamer 
puffing  up  the  river  while  I went  out  to  sea.” 

“ And  yet,”  she  said,  “ everything  lias  happened  since  then.” 

“ Everything  ? To  you  ? ” 

She  coloured  a little. 

“ I have  married.  I have  got  to  know  the  world.  My  children 
have  come  to  me.” 

“ You  have  children?  ” he  asked.  He  looked  at  her  with  a sort  of 
wistful  interest — the  interest  that  a man  may  sometimes  feel  in  a 
young  mother  when  the  passing  thought  strikes  him  that  his  own 
wife  has  never  had  a child. 

“ I have  two,”  answered  Koorali.  “ And  indeed,  Mr.  Morse,”  she 
added  brightly,  “it  makes  one  feel  that  girlhood  is  a long  way  off 


KOORALI  AND  HER  REEDS.  67 

when,  as  was  my  case  this  morning,  one  has  to  think  of  sending  a boy 
to  school.” 

He  smiled  rather  sadly.  “ I can’t  imagine  you  fitting  out  a boy  for 
school.  I can  only  think  of  you  as  Koorali,  ‘ the  Little  Qu-  en.’” 
Again  that  shade  of  melancholy  came  over  her  nice.  She  did  not 
answer. 

“ Do  you  remember,”  he  said,  “ my  prophecy  that  before  six  years 
had  passed  we  should  meet  in  London  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  she  replied.  “ But  it  is  more  than  siK  years.” 

“And  do  you  remember,”  he  asked  again,  “how  you  told  me  of  a 
fuller  life — a world  filled  with  lovely  bodiless  things,  which  seemed  so 
near  to  you  when  you  wandered  alone  in  the  bush  V ” 

“ Oh ! ” she  uttered  a childlike  cry,  and  paused  for  a moment,  looking 
at  him  with  eyes  lighted  up  and  parted  lips.  “ You  haven’t  forgotten 
the  foolish  things  1 said  to  you  on  that  day — so  many  years  ago  ?” 

“ I have  forgotten  nothing  about  that  day,”  he  answered.  “ It 
remains  vividly  in  my  memory;  it’s  like  some  incomplete  poem,  or 
like  some  picture  one  gets  a glimpse  of  once  and  once  only,  as  he 
hurries  through  some  foreign  gallery,  and  which  gets  in  a moment 
engraved  lastingly  on  the  mind.  I am  always  in  a hurry,  and  I have 
had  that  sort  of  experience.” 

“Yes,”  she  said  thoughtfully.  “There  are  pictures  like  that,  I 
suppose ; and  I know  there  are  scenes  that  stay  with  one  always.” 

“ I told  you,”  he  continued,  “ that  when  we  met  in  some  London 
drawing-room,  I would  ask  you  if  you  had  kept  the  fancies  and  the 
dreams  you  spoke  of  then.  I thought  of  that  last  night;  but  I did 
not  ask  you.” 

Koorali  let  her  hands  fall,  and  with  them  a cluster  of  daisies  that 
she  had  been  putting  together.  Her  lip  trembled.  She  bent  straight 
upon  him  eyes  full  of  pathos  and  questioning  and  then  turned  them 
slowly  away  again  without  replying. 

They  were  both  silent  for  a minute  or  two.  She  gathered  up  her 
daisies  once  more.  The  breeze  had  risen  slightly,  and  came  in  through 
the  open  windows,  rustling  the  bulrushes.  It  was  not  like  London 
somehow. 

“ Do  you  hear  the  wind  ? ” he  asked  abruptly,  yet  in  a dreamy  tone. 
“ It  seems  to  come  from  a long,  long  way  off.” 

She  smiled  answeringly.  Their  eyes  met — his  had  never  left  her 
face.  They  exchanged  silent  sympathy  and  trust.  The  looks  seemed 
both  to  say,  “ You  and  I gaze  backward  across  an  ocean.”  She  turn  d 
again  to  her  reeds  and  flowers,  and  put  the  finishing  touch  to  her 
work.  The  vase  was  filled  now. 

“ Where  do  you  get  your  rushes  ?”  he  said,  in  the  same  abrupt  way, 
as  though  he  were  talking  to  cover  some  slight  pun  or  confusion.  It 
was  he  who  was  embarrassed  and  unlike  himself.  That  silent  passing- 
byof  his  remark  struck  him  as  pathetically  significant,  and,  he  thought, 
characteristic  of  her.  It  was  in  keeping  with  a simple  directness  she 
had — to  him  at  least — in  which  he  foimd  her  greatest  charm. 


63 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


M They  came  from  a tiny  place  which  my  husband  has  taken  in 
Lyndshire.  A river  flows  by  the  house.” 

“ Perhaps  it  is  our  river,”  said  Morse.  “ We,  too,  have  a place  in 
Lyndshire,  and  a river  also.  We  shall  probably  go  there  this  autumn. 
It  used  to  be  my  wife’s  old  home,  and  her  father  gave  it  up  to  her 
when  we  married.  She  is  fond  of  Brotnswold.  How  strange,  Mrs. 
Kenway,  if  we  should  both  belong  to  the  same  county ! I wonder  if 
you  will  like  the  country  in  England?” 

“I  don’t  know  much  about  that  county,  or  about  any  English 
country,”  said  Koorali.  “ I have  only  been  once  to  the  Grey  Manor 
for  a few  days.  Crichton  took  it  because  of  the  hunting,  I believe, 
and  because  it  is  near  where  his  people  used  to  live.” 

They  talked  some  generalities,  and  Morse  delivered  Lady  Betty’s 
invitation,  and  explained  somewhat  the  nature  of  Mr.  Whistler’s  “ ten 
o’clock.” 

The  sudden  sharp  creaking  of  a pair  of  boots  disturbed  the  conversa- 
tion. Crichton  Ken  way  came  in.  Ken  way  was  always  a well-dressed 
and  a graceful  man,  but  somehow  or  other  his  boots  invariably  creaked. 
As  he  was  coming  in,  Koorali  stood  right  in  his  line  of  vision,  and  he 
did  not  see  that  Morse  was  in  the  room.  He  spoke  sharply  to  his  wife. 

“ Of  course,  Koorali,  I needn’t  ask ; you  never  thought  of  sending 
about  that  coachman?  I knew  you  would  forget  it.” 

“ Oh  no,”  Koorali  answered  quietly.  “ I have  sent.” 

Then  Ken  way  saw  Morse  corning  forward,  and  he  became  suddenly 
embarrassed.  Morse  must  have  heard  his  words  to  his  wife  and 
noticed  his  mnnner.  He  welcomed  Morse  cordially  enough,  however, 
and  they  talked  “ the  fine  weather.”  Koorali  fell  into  the  background 
a little  for  a moment  or  two.  Kenway  had  seen  her  cheek  redden 
slightly  as  he  spoke  to  her  on  his  coming  in,  and  he  knew  that  she 
felt  humiliated.  He  thought  he  saw  Morse’s  eye  resting  with  an  ex- 
pression of  commiseration  on  her.  Kenway  was  a thorough  man  of 
the  world,  in  the  smoking-room  sense  of  the  words.  He  was  a firm 
believer  in  the  “fire  and  tow”  principle  as  regards  man  and  woman. 
Here  is  the  fire,  there  is  the  inflammable  matter;  bring  these  two 
together  and  shall  there  not  be  a blaze?  The  inflammable  matter  in 
this  instance  be  identified  with  the  man.  If  the  woman  was  the  fire 
it  was  a cold  fire — a fire  like  that  of  Vesta.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
fear  about  Koorali.  But  an  idea  came  into  his  mind  about  Morse,  and 
it  filled  him  with  complacency. 

“Your  people  are  coming  in  after  the  elections,  every  one  tells  me,” 
he  said. 

“It  is  hard  to  sav,”  Morse  answered  rather  coldly;  “things  are 
uncertain  and  mixed.  So  far  as  I can  conjecture— it  isn’t  much  better 
than  conjecture — I should  say  we  are  likely  to  be  strong.” 

“Then  you  are  sure  to  be  Prime  Minister.” 

Kenway  rather  affected  a kind  of  not  ungraceful  bluntness,  a coming- 
to-the-point  manner.  It  gave  an  appearance  of  frankness  and  sincerity. 
There  was  a joyous  and  congratulatory  sound  in  his  voice  as  he  said 


koorAli  AND  HER  REEDS.  69 

these  words,  the  tone  of  one  who  is  so  sincerely  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  a friend’s  success  that  he  cares  not  even  though  the  friend 
should  know  it.  He  was  thinking  at  the  same  time  what  a splendid 
thing  it  might  he  for  him  if  Koorali  could  get  some  influence  over  the 
coming  Prime  Minister. 

“If  I come  up  to  the  fence  I must  take  the  jump,  I suppose,”  Morse 
paid.  “ But  it  is  not  quite  certain  that  I shall  tide.  If  I am  to  be 
Prime  Minister  there  must  be  no  war.” 

Ken  way  did  not  quite  follow  the  train  of  thought,  and  in  any  case 
would  have  attached  little  importance  to  what  seemed  to  him  Morse’s 
conventional  disclaimer  of  ambitious  purpose. 

“ Oh,  if  your  people — our  people,  I mean — come  in,  there  is  no  one 
hut  you  who  could  carry  on  a Government.  Every  one  is  clear  about 
that.  At  all  events,  ninety-nine  men  out  of  a hundred  say  you  are 
the  coming  Prime  Minister.” 

Morse  smiled,  and  glanced  at  Koorali. 

“The  hundredth  man  sometimes  knows  better,”  he  said.  “I 
wonder  what  the  hundredth  man  says  in  this  case?” 

Koorali  admired  and  was  impressed  by  his  quiet  tranqud  way;  the 
composure  with  which  he  showed  himself  equal  to  either  fortune.  She 
was  accustomed  to  fussy  ways,  even  about  the  merest  trifles,  and 
Morse’s  manner  was  new  and  charming  to  her. 

“Shan’t  you  be  proud  to  know  the  Prime  Minister  of  England, 
Koorali?”  Kenway  asked,  suddenly  turning  to  her. 

“I  am  proud  to  know  Mr.  Morse,”  she  said  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  she  did  not  take  any  pains  to  repress.  Morse  looked  at  her 
gratefully.  He  understood  her  meaning  thoroughly. 

After  a while  Morse  took  his  leave.  Kenway  watched  with  close 
attention  the  parting  of  Morse  and  Koorali.  Their  eyes  did  not  meet; 
there  was  no  glance  or  half-glance  significantly  interchanged.  “Nut 
yet,”  Kenway  said  to  himself. 

“ I like  him  ever  so  much,”  Kenwav  exclaimed  to  Koorali,  as  they 
found  themselves  ah  me.  “ D«>n’t  you  like  him,  Koorali  ? ” 

“Very  much.  He  impresses  me.  I think  he  is  so  sincere  and 
strong.” 

“ Quite  so.  I say,  Koorali,  I hope  he  will  come  here  very  often, 
don’t  you  ? He  is  a man  to  know.” 

“ Do  you  think  he  is  a man  easy  for  every  one  to  know  ? ” KoorMi 
asked  quietly. 

“ Oh,  yes : I don’t  mean  that.  He  is  a man  one  ought  to  know. 
He  will  have  tremendous  influence  before  long.  They  say  he  will  be 
Prime  Minister.  He  seemed  to  like  you,  I thought.  But  for  that 
matter  every  one  does  now.” 

Ken  way  thought  more  of  his  wife  when  people  liked  her. 


70 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

“WIIAT  DO  YOU  CALL  LONDON  SOCIETY?” 

The  Sunday  dinner-party  at  Lady  Betty’s  was,  as  Morse  had  told 
Masterson,  small.  As  at  first  planned  it  was  to  be  hardly  a dinner- 
party at  all,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word;  only  a Sunday  dinner- 
party— one  of  tin  se  little  gatherings  now  growing  common  in  London 
society  in  which  the  smallness  of  the  number  is  supposed,  in  seme  sort 
of  way,  to  mitigate  the  conventional  objection  to  festivities  on  the 
“ day  of  rest.” 

Lady  Betty  came  of  a somewhat  strict  family  on  both  sides  ; but  she 
liked  a izood  deal  of  freedom  for  herself,  while  yet  she  was  unwilling 
to  shock  the  regulated  ideas  of  the  set  from  amongst  which  she  came. 
So  she  had  very  soon  fallen  into  the  way  of  having  small,  quiet,  unpre- 
tentious, deprecatory  little  dinners  on  the  Sunday.  This  particular 
day  she  intended  to  have,  besides  Mr.  Paulton,  only  Lady  Deveril,  who 
had  written  novels  about  society'  and  fashion,  and  affected  the  air  of  a 
literary  hack,  talked  of  “copy,”  and  inveighed  against  publishers; 
Mr.  Piercv,  a scientific  man,  considered  even  by  his  own  scientific  set 
as  somewhat  too  bigoted  m his  atheism;  and  the  Rev.  Father  St. 
Maurice,  a young  man  of  good  family,  who  had  been  a clergyman  of 
the  Church  of  England  and  a popular  preacher,  had  then  become  a 
free-thinker  and  started  a service  and  a Sunday  hall  of  his  own,  and 
finally  had  gone  over  to  the  Catholic  Church.  He  was  a favourite  in 
society  through  all  his  changes;  every  one  believed  in  his  sincerity. 
Morse  had,  however,  added  on  Masterson  since  then;  and  Lady  Betty 
had  bethought  her  of  the  Ken  ways,  and  of  Arden,  whom  she  thought 
Koorali  would  like  to  meet. 

Lady  Betty  was  especially  friendly  and  warm  to  Masterson.  She 
went  towards  him  holding  out  both  her  hands  when  he  entered,  and  she 
reproached  him  with  gentle  earnestness  for  not  coming  to  see  her  more 
often. 

The  Fenway's  were  a little  late.  The  company,  with  the  exception 
of  Lord  Arden,  was  all  gathered  in  the  drawing-room  before  Crichton 
and  Koorali  made  their  appearance.  This  was  just  as  well ; for  Lady 
Betty  was  enabled  to  sound  the  praises  of  Koorali  in  advance  to  every 
one  of  her  other  guests. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crichton  Kenway  were  announced — Kenway 
would  never  give  his  name  without  the  “ Crichton  ” — Lady  Betty 
tripped  up  to  Koorali  and  kissed  her.  The  curious  likeness  and  unlike- 
ness at  once  apparent  between  the  two  women  was  again  noticed  by 
the  husband  of  each  one.  Lady  Betty’s  simple  white  dress  had  been 
put  on  with  the  slightly  malicious  design  that  it  should  serve  as  a 
counterfoil  to  the  elaborate  artistic  costumes,  presumably  to  be  seen  at 
Mr.  Whistlers  reception.  Koorali  also  was  in  white;  and  there  was 
a little  more  colour  than  usual  in  her  cheeks,  which  made  her  eyes  look 


“WHAT  DO  YOU  CALL  LONDON  SOCIETY /»  7f 


darker  and  larger.  She  was  slightly  confused  for  a moment  by  Lady 
Betty’s  kiss,  and  deeply  touched  by  this  mark  of  cordiality— for 
Koorali’s  heart  was  one  of  those  which  unfolds  to  kindness  as  a flower 
expands  in  sunshine.  She  returned  it  with  a look  of  shy  gratitude  not 
devoid  of  dignity  that  was  very  pretty,  and  that  prepossessed  every  one 
present  in  her  favour.  Crichton’s  profound  bow  was  a triumph  of 
dramatic  art.  It  suggested  somehow  the  thought  of  a man  originally 
familiar  to  courts,  but  for  some  time  an  exile  from  their  grace  and 
splendour,  and  who  in  the  satisfaction  of  his  return  to  his  rightful 
sphere  marks  his  restoration  by  an  especial  floridness  of  courtesy.  All 
the  time,  however,  he  contrived  to  send  searching  glances  round  the 
room,  anxious  to  know  at  once  who  was  there,  and  whom  it  would  be 
well  for  him  to  fasten  on  and  whom  to  avoid.  He  was  a little  dis- 
appointed ; there  was  no  one  particularly  interesting  in  his  sense,  he 
thought,  except  Lady  Betty  herself,  who  was  of  course  a great  person- 
age everywhere. 

They  did  not  wait  for  Arden,  who  had  the  privileges  of  kinship  here, 
and  wTas  not  treated  with  formality. 

Morse  took  down  Lady  Deveril;  Mr.  Paulton  had  charge  of  the 
hostess;  Lady  Betty  introduced  Mr.  St.  Maurice  to  Koorali;  he  would 
suit  her  better  she  thought  than  any  of  the  other  men.  The  dinner 
table  was  round ; the  guests  were  not  too  mnny  for  general  conversa- 
tion. Lady  Betty  detested  what  she  called  table  Thole  dinners,  where 
every  one  talked  only  to  his  next  neighbour.  Crichton  Ken  way’s  eyes 
sparkled  with  gratification  as  he  surveyed  the  appointments  of  "the 
table.  He  enjoyed  nothing  in  the  world  so  thoroughly  as  a good  dinner 
well  served. 

Lady  Deveril  was  a round-faced  woman,  with  twinkling  grey  eyes, 
still  young,  with  a mass  of  short-cropped  hair  standing  out  everywhere 
round  her  head.  Father  St.  Maurice  was  tall,  courtly,  handsome,  with 
meek  grave  manners  which  sometimes  concealed  a shaft  of  satire,  as 
the  ivy  of  Harmodious  concealed  the  blade  of  his  sword.  Mr.  Piercy 
was  robust,  with  a bold  square  for  head.  These  two  had  been  well- 
acquainted  before  St.  Maurice  became  a free-thinker,  and  while  Piercy 
still  made  it  a practice  to  go  to  church  on  Sunday.  They  were  near 
each  other  at  table. 

“ Well,  and  how  do  you  like  your  new  superstition,  Maurice  ?”  wa3 
Piercy 's  genial  greeting. 

“ Much  better  than  our  old  hypocrisy,”  was  St.  Maurice’s  bland  reply. 

Koorali  could  not  help  smiling;  her  smile  pleased  St.  Maurice. 

At  that  moment  Arden  entered,  and  after  making  his  apologies  to 
Lady  Betty,  slipped  into  the  vacant  place,  which  was  next  Lady 
Deveril  and  opposite  Koorali. 

“I  don’t  want  much  dinner,  Lady  Betty,”  he  said.  “I  have  been 
dining  already,  I am  ashamed  to  say.  You  should  have  been  with  us, 
St.  Maurice.  I couldn’t  ask  you,  for  we  are  so  poor  that  we  are  not 
allowed  to  have  any  guests ; but  we  do  a lot  of  good,  or  at  least,  we  try 
to.  It’s  for  the  widows  of  seamen,  don’t  you  know  ? ” 


72 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


There  set  in  a talk  about  the  condition  of  things  in  England.  Mr. 
Paulton  was  very  anxious  to  get  an  accurate  view  of  everything,  and 
thought  he  could  not  have  come  to  a better  place  for  the  purpose.  He 
asked  various  questions  about  politics  and  social  life.  Somehow  he 
found  that  the  greater  number  of  days  he  lived  in  England,  the  less 
knowledge  of  any  accurate  kind  he  seemed  to  possess.  Up  to  this 
time  he  had  found  himself  mainly  engaged  in  the  process  of  getting 
rid  of  convictions  which  he  had  brought  with  him  in  advance  con- 
cerning everything  in  England;  and  he  did  not  seem  to  be  taking  in 
many  new  and  true  ideas  in  the  place  of  those  he  had  to  throw  over- 
board. 

“What  I want,”  Mr.  Paulton  said,  “is  to  get  information.  I am 
here  in  what  would  be  called,  I presume,  a representative  company,  in 
the  very  heart  of  your  London  society — in  your  West  End  ; and  I 
have  the  rare  good  fortune  to  find  a company  which,  though  small, 
appears  to  me  to  include  representatives  of  very  different  shades  of 
public  opinion.  Now,  I want  to  know  something  about  English  life 
of  this  present  day.  Can  you  tell  me  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  want  to  be  told  about,  Mr.  Paulton  ?”  Lady  Betty 
asked.  “Do  you  want  to  hear  about  the  social  revolution?  Mr. 
Masterson  can  tell  you  all  that.  Do  you  want  to  hear  West  End 
scat 'dal  ? If  so,  I fancy  I can  instruct  you  as  well  as  another. 
Radicalism?  Why,  you  are  quite  near  my  husband.  Literature? 
Lady  Deveril  has  written  three  novels — is  it  three,  Susie  ? — yes,  three 
novels — and  they  have  all  been  favourably  reviewed  in  the  papers.” 

Lady  Deveril  gave  a little  shudder,  which  seemed  to  tell  of  an  over- 
taxed brain.  “ Pray  don’t  speak  of  my  work.  It’s  a relief  to  escape 
from  it.  1 have  been  correcting  proofs  all  the  morning.” 

“Is  that  worse  than  collecting  ‘copy’?”  asked  Lord  Arden, 
innocently. 

Koorali  glanced  at  the  authoress  with  amused  interest. 

“Mrs.  Kenway  is  wondering  whether  you  mean  to  turn  her  into 
‘copy,’”  continued  Arden. 

“Oh,”  said  Lady  Deveril,  with  serene  patronage,  “ Mrs.  Kenway 
doesn’t  understand  our  literary  jargon  yet.” 

“ Proofs  should  be  read  by  an  illiterate  person,  to  whom  the  laws  of 
punctuation  are  a novelty,”  sententiously  observed  Mr.  Piercy. 

“ Correcting  proofs  is  the  most  maddening  occupation  in  all  the 
vorld,”  said  Lady  Betty,  feelingly. 

“ By  the  way,  Lady  Betty,”  asked  Father  St.  Maurice,  “ how  is  your 
article  on  Venetian  ironwork  getting  on?  .Have  30U  hunted  up  any 
more  authorities  ? ” 

“ I hate  Venice ! I hate  iron  ! ” exclaimed  Lady  Betty.  “ I believe 
tn  occupation  for  women,  Mr.  Kenway,”  she  added,  turning  her  beaming 
smile  on  Crichton;  “and  I tiied  to  set  a good  example  by  writing 
things,  don’t  you  know  ? I exhausted  ferns  and  Flemish  lace ; and 
now  I’m  done  to  death  by  iron.  I’ll  never  write  anything  again,  i 
can’t  round  my  periods.” 


“ WHAT  DO  YOU  CALL  LONDON  SOCIETY fn  73 


“ Oh,  but  we  don’t  try  to  round  our  periods  nowadays,  do  we,  Lady 
Deveril  ? ” said  Arden. 

There  was  a laugh. 

“ Well,  Mr.  Paulton,”  said  Lady  Betty,  “ anyhow,  you  see  literature 
is  pretty  well  represented.  Lord  Arden  is  an  authority  on  the  Salvation 
Army  and  the  White  Ribbon  movement.” 

Loid  Arden  put  in  a gentle  protest. 

Lady  Betty  went  on.  “ As  for  the  condition  of  England  in  regard 
to  religion  ; well,  here  is  Mr.  St.  Maurice.  He  ought  to  know  all  about 
that,  his  experience  has  been  varied.” 

“ Is  England  improving  or  decaying  ? ” Mr.  Paulton  asked. 

“ Improving,”  Mr.  St.  Maurice  said,  with  a look  of  ineffable  convic- 
tion. “ Improving,  surely.  On  the  verge,  I should  say,  of  a complete 
renovation.” 

“ Sinking,  decaying,  tumbling  into  utter  ruin  and  perdition,”  Master- 
son  exclaimed.  “But  it  must  fall  into  utter  ruin  before  it  can  be 
regenerated.  Everything  has  got  to  come  down  before  anything  can 
be  put  up  again.  We  have  to  pass  through  a terrible  ordeal ; then 
will  come  out  purified,  disenthralled,  and  regenerated,  the  true  England 
— the  England  of  the  future.” 

“What  England  wants,”  Piercy  declared,  “is  true  scientific  way  of 
thinking.  We  want  to  get  rid  of  superstitions  ; we  want  to  shake  off 
the  grasp  of  the  dead  hand  in  our  literature  and  our  social  life  as  well 
as  in  our  charitable  organizations.  Let  us  have  facts  and  face  them. 
Above  all  things,  gentlemen,  no  dreams,  as  the  Emperor  Alexander  of 
Russia  said  to  the  Polish  deputation.” 

“What  England  wants,”  Lady  Deveril  gently  sighed,  “is  the 
capacity  to  dream.” 

“ What  England  wants,”  Father  St. Maurice  murmured,  “is  the  all- 
pervading,  all-quickening  sense  of  religion.” 

“ What  England  wants,”  said  Morse,  “ is  the  sympathy  of  class  with 
class.” 

“ Yes,”  Koorali  spoke  out  with  courage,  “ little  as  I have  seen  of 
England,  I have  seen  that .” 

“ What  England  wants,”  Masterson  declared,  “ is  a social  revolution. 
She  must  clear  out  her  aristocracy  and  her  capitalists  before  she  can 
even  breathe.” 

“ Oh,  but  surely,”  Kenway  said, looking  to  Lady  Betty,  “you  would 
not  have  an  England  without  gentlemen  ? ” 

“Seems  to  me,”  Mr.  Paulton  observed,  “that  England  wants  pretty 
well  everything  ; or  that  she  wants  nothing  at  all.  But  I guess  there’s 
something  in  what  Mr.  Morse  says  about  the  want  of  sympathy 
between  class  and  class.  And  I think  there’s  something  in  what  this 
gentleman  says,  too,”  and  he  turned  to  Mr.  St.  Maurice.  “You  do 
seem  to  me  to  want  a new  and  fresh  breath  of  religious  thought. 
Your  atmosphere  is  a little  stagnant  in  that  way,  so  far  as  I can 
see.” 

“We  hope  to  quicken  it,”  Mr.  St.  Maurice  said  with  the  smile  of 
6 


74 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


quiet  radiance  which  becomes  and  bespeaks  the  convinced  enthusiast. 
“ Our  time  is  near  at  hand,  Mr.  Paulton.” 

“And  that  time,  sir,  is ?” 

“ The  time  of  the  Church,”  St.  Maurice  said  in  a low  and  measured 
tone. 

“ May  I ask,  sir,  wdiat  Church  ? ” 

“There  is  only  one  Church,”  St.  Maurice  replied. 

“ Rot ! ” Mr.  Piercy  grumbled  below  his  breath.  Then  he  said  aloud, 
“I  hope  we  are  near  the  end  of  superstition  in  England.  This  un- 
fortunate country  has  been  groaning  for  centuries  enough  under  the 
nightmare  of  superstition ; it  is  time  that  the  dawn  came  and  allowed 
her  to  wake  and  get  up  and  do  something.” 

“ Does  science  to-day  call  faith  superstition  ? ” Koorali  asked 
pluckily. 

Morse  thought  it  prudent  to  intervene  here,  and  save  her  from  the 
man  of  science.  “ I have  often,”  he  said,  “ wondered  whether  it  is 
really  possible  for  people  to  get  to  know  the  true  and  special  character- 
istics of  the  age  and  the  society  in  which  they  live.  What  is  the  leading 
characteristic  of  London  society  at  the  present  hour  ? ” 

“What  do  you  call  London  society  ? ” Masterson  asked. 

“ Exactly,”  Mr.  Piercy  struck  in.  “ What  do  you  call  it  ? Is  its 
centre  in  Marlborough  House ; or  the  Houses  of  Parliament ; or  the 
British  Museum  ; or  the  Hall  of  Science  at  the  East  End?  ” 

“ Or  the  South  Kensington  Museum ; or  the  Grosvenor  Gallery  ? ” 
Lady  Deveril  suggested. 

“ Or  the  Eleusis  Club  ? ” Lady  Betty  said  with  a smile. 

“I  give  no  opinion,”  Masterson  said.  “1  have  nothing  to  do  with 
London  society.  If  you  want  to  know  anything  about  the  real  life 
and  manhood  and  womanhood  of  England,  I might  put  you  on  the 
right  track.  I know  what  are  the  classes  who  will  shape  the  destiny 
of  a better  England  than  ours — a true  England.  But  what  you  call 
society  is  not  worth  five  minutes5  serious  study  to  any  man  who  has 
anything  real  to  do  in  life.” 

“ I don’t  think  I seem  to  advance  much  in  my  mastery  of  the  English 
social  problem,”  Mr.  Paulton  observed,  with  a quiet  smile.  “You 
don’t  seem  to  be  able  to  agree  among  yourselves  even  as  to  what 
London  society  is.” 

“ What  do  you  call  London  society,  dear  Lady  Betty?” 

It  was  Lady  Deveril  who  asked  the  question.  She  asked  it  really  in 
the  spirit  of  one  who  desires  information.  Now,  to  Mr.  Paulton,  for 
example,  or  any  other  stranger,  it  would  probably  seem  as  if  a Lady 
Deveril  ought  to  be  as  much  of  an  authority  upon  the  constituent 
elements  of  London  society  as  a Lady  Betty  Morse.  But  it  was  not 
so.  Lady  Deveril  was  the  daughter  of  an  English  country  gentleman. 
She  had  married  a banker,  who  sat  for  years  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
subsciibed  liberally  to  his  party,  found  many  eligible  candidates  and 
much  election  expenses  for  them,  and  was  made  a peer  for  his  patriotic 
labours  and  sacrifices.  In  Lady  Betty  Morse’s  family,  on  the  side  of 


WHAT  DO  YOU  CALL  LONDON  SOCIETY?”  75 


her  mother  as  well  as  of  her  father,  peerages  began  to  set  in  rather 
before  the  days  of  Hengist  and  Horsa. 

Ken  way  looked  towards  his  hostess  with  deferential  interest.  Arden 
glanced  at  Koorali.  There  was  an  odd  smile  on  his  face. 

“ Oh,  well,”  Lady  Betty  said,  with  a certain  pretty  mixture  of 
diffidence  and  conviction,  “ I suppose  society  means  the  people  that 
one  meets  and  knows,  don’t  you  think  ? ” 

Even  Mr.  Piercy  was  amused  at  the  blended  simplicity  and  scientific 
accuracy  of  this  definition.  Lady  Betty  was  perfectly  correct.  Society, 
in  the  conventional  sense  of  the  word,  meant  just  what  she  had  said — 
the  people  Lady  Betty  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting,  and  knowing  as 
well  as  meeting.  Poor  Masterson  audibly  groaned.  Morse  felt  it  too, 
although  in  a different  way. 

“ I sometimes  think,”  Morse  said,  “ that  we  want  a great  national 
misfortune  in  this  country  to  shake  us  out  of  our  sleek  contented 
indolence,  and  to  shake  us  into  a common  feeling  of  concern  for  each 
other ; to  make  us  English  men  and  women,  and  not  people  of  different 
classes  and  sets.  We  have  been  too  prosperous — I mean  all  of  us 
who  are  toleiably  well  off;  and  we  can’t  be  got  to  believe  that  the 
vast  majority  of  the  English  people  are  poor  and  ignorant  and  un- 
happy.” 

“Oh,  Mr.  Morse,  you  are  right,”  Koorali  said,  clasping  her  hands. 
“ Better  any  common  calamity  than  such  stagnation  of  the  country’s 
heart ! ” 

“You  want  something  like  our  great  civil  war,”  Mr.  Paulton  said. 
“That  did  us  in  the  North  a wonderful  amount  of  good,  for  the  time 
anyhow.  It  made  us  fellow-countrymen  and  patriots.” 

“ But  we  are  going  to  have  a war  now,  are  we  not  ? ” Lady  Deveril 
asked.  “ Every  one  says  we  are  going  to  war.” 

“The  Jingoes  are  trying  to  have  it  their  own  way,”  Masterson 
exclaimed.  “ But  they  will  have  to  reckon  with  the  people  of  England 
first — let  them  make  up  their  minds  to  that.” 

“ I only  hope  so,”  Morse  said.  “ I hope  the  English  people  will 
insist  on  being  heard  before  it  is  too  late.” 

“ I am  glad  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  Morse,”  Masterson  said,  with 
lighting  eyes. 

“ I am  glad  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  Masterson,”  was  the  quiet 
reply  of  Morse. 

“ 1 am  glad  to  hear  you  both,”  Koorali  said.  Her  husband  looked 
robukingly  at  her. 

“ Is  it  true  that  your  Court  is  for  this  war  ? ” Paulton  asked. 

“ I fear  it  is  true,”  Morse  said. 

“ Of  course  it  is  true  ! ” Masterson  exclaimed.  “ When  was  there 
any  devilry  of  the  kind  going  on  that  our  Court  circles  were  not  in 
favour  of  it  ? ” 

“ Oh,  come  now,  Mr.  Masterson,”  Lady  Betty  said  earnestly,  “ I do 
think  that  so  very  unfair  of  you.  Our  Court  has  never  been  much  in 
favour  of  war,  you  do  know  that ; and  never  in  favour  of  an  unjust 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE." 


76 

war,  never ! I know  that  myself ; but  of  course  they  are  too  patriotic 
to  like  to  see  the  country  trampled  on.” 

“You  have  heard  what  your  husband  thinks  of  such  a war,” 
Masterson  said  grimly. 

“ My  husband ! oh  yes,  that’s  another  thing,  we  don’t  mind  him. 
Of  course  he  goes  in  for  being  a republican  and  all  that.  I like  him  to 
have  his  way,  it  becomes  him.  It  looks  nice,  and  picturesque  in  him, 
and  I won’t  hear  a word  said  against  him;  but  still,  you  know,  the 
Court  must  have  some  opinion  of  its  own.” 

“ You  must  ask  people  to-night  at  the  Universe  Club,”  Morse  said. 

“ Why  there?”  Paulton  asked. 

“The  Universe  is  our  political  palace  of  truth.  We  keep  our  con- 
ventional statements — I shouldn’t  like  to  call  them  our  lies — for  Par- 
liament ; but  when  we  meet  in  the  Universe  we  say  exactly  what  we 
think.  We  have  one  conscience  and  one  code  of  truth  for  Parliament, 
and  another—  the  scriptural  code — lor  the  Universe  Club.” 

Arden  laughed  a little  sadly. 

“ But  I thought  you  Englishmen  always  prided  yourselves  on  your 
blunt  truthfulness?”  said  Paulton. 

“ Not  in  Parliament,”  replied  Morse.  “ No  ; it  wouldn’t  do  there. 
There  we  go  with  our  party.  You  make  a speech  and  do  your  best 
with  it  in  support  of  some  particular  act  of  policy ; you  walk  home 
with  one  of  your  colleagues  that  night,  and  you  and  he  agree  in 
denouncing  it.” 

Kenway  turned  to  his  host.  There  was  something  a little  puzzled 
in  his  expression.  He  had  not  talked  much,  he  had  been  observing; 
and  with  considerable  suppleness  his  mind  was  trying  to  adjust  itself 
to  the  characteristics  of  the  people  he  was  with.  He  did  not  feel  quite 
sure  how  to  take  Morse.  A bit  of  conventional  satire  rose  to  his  lips, 
as  the  correct  remark  to  make,  but  Lady  Betty’s  voice  checked  it. 

“ Sandham,  my  dear ! ” she  remonstrated.  “ Mr.  Paulton,  I hope 
you  won’t  take  my  husband’s  fanciful  exaggeration  as  a stern  reality. 
I don't  think  he  would  say — well,  the  thing  that  is  not,  to  save  the 
empire — or  the  life  of  his  wife.” 

“It  is  true,  all  the  same,”  Morse  maintained.  “There  is  one  con- 
science for  a man’s  private  life,  and  another  lor  the  House  of  Commons. 
It  used  to  shock  me  a good  deal  at  first,  but  now  I am  getting  used 
to  it.” 

“ I hope  and  believe  all  men  are  truthful — all  gentlemen,  I mean,” 
Lady  Deveril  said  plaintively.  “Women  are  not,  I know;  but  then 
that’s  different — no  one  expects  them  to  be.” 

“Weil,  we  are  wandering  away  from  the  condition  of  society  in 
London,”  Paulton  said.  “ What  now,  Lady  Betty,  would  you  say  was 
the  main  characteristic  of  the  London  society  of  to-day?” 

“ Dullness  I should  say — decidedly,  dullness  ; but  I don’t  know  that 
it  is  worse  than  it  ever  was.” 

“ I am  sure  you  do  your  best  to  brighten  it,”  Lady  Deveril  inter- 
posed. “ I don’t  know  how  any  society  could  be  dull  where  you  were.’ 


“ WHAT  DO  YOU  CALL  LONDON  SOCIETY ?”  77 

“ And  what  should  you  say,  Lady  Deveril  ? ” the  American  Minister 
asked.  He  was  evidently  anxious  for  information,  and  did  not  wish 
the  conversation  to  stray. 

“ 1 have  been  writing  a novel,”  said  Lady  Deveril  demurely,  “in 
which  .1  endeavour  to  show  that  the  leading  characteristic  of  the  social 
life  of  our  day  is  the  altered  position  and  functions  of  woman.” 

“Didn’t  know  they  had  altered,”  growled  the  man  of  science. 

“ Ah,  now,”  said  Arden,  “ we  come  to  my  subject.  I shall  have  a 
great  deal  to  say  about  that  some  day. 

“ Say  it  now,”  said  Lady  Betty. 

“ Don’t  you  think,”  he  returned,  “ that  our  talk  has  been  a little  too 
philosophical  already — not  to  say  dry?” 

Mr.  Paul  ton  objected. 

Kenway,  who  would  have  preferred  a little  social  froth,  put  in, 
“ Have  you  heard  Dr.  Maria  Lakeswell  Tubbs,  the  American  lady 
doctor,  Lady  Betty  ? She  is  giving  discourses  to  her  own  sex  on  the 
functions  of  women.  I am  told  that  she  carries  about  a skeleton,  and 
dangles  it  before  her  audience,  while  she  exposes  all  their  secrets.” 

“ But  I must  know  Dr.  Maria  Lakeswell  Tubbs,”  exclaimed  Lady  Betty. 
“Give  a party,  Lady  Betty,”  suggested  Arden.  “Ask  Dr.  Maria 
Lakeswell  Tubbs  to  bring  her  skeleton.  She’ll  make  a sensation.” 

“ She  is  at  home  on  Mondays.  Come  with  me  next  Monday,”  said 
Lady  Deveril. 

“ I have  a mothers’  meeting,”  sighed  Lady  Betty. 

“ Take  your  mothers,”  growled  Mr.  Piercy.  “ It’s  most  important 
they  should  be  made  acquainted  with  their  internal  economy — quite 
worth  a dozen  two-guinea  fees.” 

“A  two-guinea  feel  That’s  altogether  a different  matter,”  cried 
Lady  Deveril.  “I’ll  back  out.  In  these  days  of  agricultural  depres- 
sion, and  when  the  Primrose  League  is  so  expensive,  and  publishers 
cut  down  prices,  one  hasn’t  two  guineas  to  spare. 

“ The  principal  characteristic  of  society  to-day — I assume  that  by 
characteristic  you  mean  weakness  or  fault?” — it  was  Father  St. 
Maurice  spoke  this,  “is  too  much  self-analysis,  inducing  and  nourish- 
ing scepticism.” 

“The  great  defect  of  society,”  Piercy  declared,  “is  the  lack  of 
courage  to  carry  analysis  of  self  and  all  else  deep  enough.” 

“ The  characteristic  of  society  in  England  to-day,”  Morse  said,  “ is 
self-consciousness.” 

“ The  characteristic  of  modern  English  society,”  Masterson  affirmed, 
“is  luxury,  effeminacy,  debauchery.  Society  is  corruption ; aristocracy 
is  erfetencss;  religious  profession  is  cant.” 

“ I give  it  up,”  the  American  Minister  said.  “ I shall  not  get  to 
know  what  is  the  characteristic  of  London  society ; my  mind  is  made 
up.  I will  not  write  a book  on  England.” 

“ Wait  until  you  have  been  at  the  Universe,”  Morse  suggested. 

“ Come  to  one  of  our  democratic  meetings  any  Sunday  in  Hydu 
Park  or  Eattersea  Park,”  Masterson  advised. 


73  “THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 

“ I wish  you  would  attend  one  of  our  services,”  Father  St.  Maurioa 
gently  urged. 

“ Have  you  nothing  to  advise,  Mr.  Piercy  ? ” the  Minister  asked. 

“ I ? Oh  dear,  no  ; nothing.  I have  to  do  with  science  ; I don’t 
advise  anything  about  society.” 

“ There,  you  see!”  Lady  Betty  exclaimed  in  a sprightly  tone; 
“ there  is  only  one  man  of  real  scientific  knowledge  in  this  little  com- 
pany, and  he  refuses  to  give  us  any  help  from  his  enlightenment.  I 
think  it  is  of  no  use  our  trying  to  seek  out  the  truth  any  further.” 

She  was  glad  to  find  an  excuse  for  not  prolonging  the  conversation. 
She  made  her  mystic  sign  to  Lady  Deveril,  and  the  three  ladies  left 
the  room.  The  others  followed  almost  immediately.  It  was  not  a 
house  where  the  men  lingered  over  their  wine.  This  was  somewhat  to 
Kenway’s  regret,  for  the  claret  was  ’74  Mouton.  Morse  went  straight 
to  Koorali,  and  Kenway  watched  them  while  they  were  talking.  He 
had  seldom  of  late  seen  his  wife  so  bl  ight  and  animated.  She  seemed 
altogether  more  human.  Mr.  Piercy  and  Lord  Arden  had  joined  the 
two.  Once  or  twice,  to  Crichton’s  surprise,  he  heard  Koorali  give  a 
ready  reply  to  some  remark  of  the  man  of  science,  who  had  also  a vein 
of  humour.  Ken  way  kept  his  eyes  and  ears  well  open,  though  he  was 
assiduous  in  making  himself  agreeable  to  Lady  Betty.  The  lirtle  party 
broke  up  very  soon.  Morse  was  taking  Mr.  Paulton  and  Crichton  to 
the  Universe  Club.  Masterson,  who  was  a member  of  the  club,  was  to 
go  with  them.  Piercy  was  returning  home  to  study  for  a paper  on  the 
dissection  of  the  water-cress  leaf;  and  Lady  Betty  was  taking  Lady 
Deveril  and  Koorali  to  the  house  of  a fashionable  woman  to  hear  one 
of  Mr.  Whistler’s  “ ten  o’clock  ” lectures. 


CHAPTEP  X. 

“ AND  SO — HALLO  ! ” 

The  rooms  ot  the  Universe  Club,  in  one  of  the  streets  close  to  Berkeley 
Square,  were  specially  well  filled  this  Sunday  night.  One  of  the 
members  of  the  club  was  going  to  take  his  position  as  head  of  the 
embassy  at  the  capital  of  the  foreign  State  with  which,  according  to  all 
appearance,  England  was  about  to  go  to  war.  The  former  ambassador 
-from  the  Court  of  Queen  Victoria  had  expressed  a wish  to  change  to 
some  other  place.  He  was  in  favour  of  a peace  policy,  it  was  said;  and 
the  new  man  was  understood  to  be  all  for  a policy  of  defiance.  So 
there  was  some  interest  felt  in  his  departure,  and  there  was  much 
speculation  as  to  the  speed  of  his  coming  back  to  London  again.  The 
whole  thing  was  discuss  d in  rather  a light  and  chaffing  tone  ; and  beta 
were  freely  ottered  that  the  new  ambassador  would  not  even  be  allowed 
the  chance  of  sleeping  one  night  in  the  capital  to  which  he  was  bound. 

“ Wouldn’t  unpack  my  tilings,  if  I were  you,  Wolmington,”  a 
youthful  member  of  the  House  of  Lords  said  to  him  ; “won’t  be  worth 


"A  AD  SO — HALLO  I* 


79 

your  while,  bet  you  anything  you  like.  Stay,  I say  ; here’s  Morse ; 
he’ll  tell  us  something.  If  he  can  keep  you  there  he  will.  Let’s  ask 
him  what  he  and  his  merry  men,  the  Radicals,  think  they  can  do  to 
prevent  a fight  now.” 

Morse  had  come  into  the  room  with  Crichton  Ken  way,  and  had  been 
introducing  Kenway  to  men  here  and  there.  Ken  way  was  just  now  in 
an  ecstacy  of  delight.  Every  name  he  heard  named  was  that  ot  some 
distinguished  or  prominent  man;  more  than  once  he  heard  a really 
famous  name.  Every  name  he  heard  was  already  familiar  to  him.  He 
had  known  all  about  the  names  and  their  owners  in  his  far  a wav  South 
Britain,  and  it  was  a wonderful  experience  to  him  now  to  find  himself 
in  company  and  in  converse  with  the  living  men  themselves.  It  con- 
firmed him  in  the  sudden  idea  which  had  come  into  his  mind  that 
evening,  that  he  wTould  scheme  for  an  appointment  in  England.  He 
now  felt  that  he  never  could,  under  any  conditions,  endure  a return  to 
South  Britain  ; that  he  never  could  leave  London  ; that  he  never  could 
exist  any  more  without  society  such  as  that  in  which  he  had  lately  been 
moving.  Men  of  all  parties  and  sections,  and  men  of  no  party  at  all, 
belonged  to  this  club.  Every  foreigner  of  any  distinction  who  came  to 
London  was  sure  to  be  brought  to  the  club  by  some  of  its  members. 
Kenway  had  been  a little  doubtful  in  coming  along  to  the  club  rooms 
whether  Morse  was  really  the  best  man  to  stick  on  to.  But  in  the 
club  he  soon  made  up  his  mind.  There  was  a great  deal  of  talk  about 
the  coming  elections,  and  every  one  seemed  to  assume  that  there  would 
be  a Liberal  majority,  with  a strong  Radical  section  in  it  and  at  its 
front,  and  that  Morse  must  have  his  chance  of  being  Prime  Minister. 
Amid  all  the  levity,  and  jesting,  and  chaff,  this  earnest  conviction 
made  its  existence  felt ; and  Ken  way  resolved  to  hold  on  to  Morse. 
Masterson  had  been  in  the  club,  too ; but  he  did  not  stay  long.  He 
was  inclined  to  grow  fierce  now  and  then;  he  could  not  stand  the 
chaff.  He  knew  he  rather  bored  people  with  his  one  idea;  and  he 
could  not  put  his  one  idea  aside  even  for  a moment.  He  felt  this  him- 
self, and  was  gradually  withdrawing  from  all  society.  So  he  went 
away  abruptly,  after  having  spoken  a few  words  to  Morse  apart. 

Corks  were  popping,  soda  was  fizzing,  cigars  were  thickening  the  air, 
matches  were  sputtering  all  over  tne  place.  The  drinking  was  very 
modest;  only  a whiskey  and  soda,  or  something  of  the  kind.  There 
were  few  pictures  or  curiosities  of  any  sort  to  look  at.  The  Universe 
did  not  go  in  for  that  sort  of  thing.  It  went  in  for  celebrities  and  con- 
versation. Morse  had  called  it  not  inaptly  a Palace  of  Truth.  So  far 
as  Kenway  could  understand,  every  one  there  said  exactly  what  he 
thought.  He  was  amazed  to  find  how  many  men  who  sat  on  the 
Liberal  benches  and  voted  blind  with  the  Liberal  chiefs  were  rank 
Conservatives  in  their  hearts  and  in  the  Universe  Club.  He  was 
surprised  to  find  some  leading  members  of  the  Carlton  declaring  that 
the  time  had  gone  by  for  the  absurd  old  notions  which  might  nave 
suited  the  days  of  Lord  Eldon,  and  that  Lord  Randolph  w^as  quite  right 
when  he  went  boldly  in  for  a Tory  Democracy.  It  bewdldered  him  to 


So 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


discover  that  almost  everybody  on  both  sides  of  the  political  field  was 
of  opinion  that  some  sort  of  Home  Rule  ought  to  be  given  to  Ireland. 
It  amazed  him  still  more  to  hear  the  terms  in  which  bishops,  arch- 
bishops, princes  even,  were  talked  of,  now  in  this  part  of  the  room  and 
nowT  in  that. 

“ Is  loyalty,  then,  only  known  in  the  colonies  ? ” he  asked  of  Morse, 
as  they  were  going  d<#wu  the  stairs. 

“Old-fashioned  loyalty,  personal  loyalty,  is,  I suppose,”  Morse 
replied.  “ Some  of  us  really  like  the  institution  of  royalty,  and  believe 
in  what  Paulton  calls  ‘ dressed-up  dummyism  ’ as  best  suited  for  the 
country  ; others  don’t  object  to  it ; others  again  don’t  think  it  would 
he  worth  the  trouble  to  try  to  make  any  change.  But  I don’t  believe 
there  is  anybody  who  is  really  enthusiastic  and  lyrical  about  it;  except, 
perhaps,  in  the  colonies.  You  see,  you  are  so  far  off  there.  The  thing 
looks  all  brightness  and  poetry  to  you — like  a star.”  The  comparison 
came  into  his  mind  as  they  passed  into  the  quite  street,  and  he  looked 
up  at  the  stars. 

Morse  stopped  at  the  door,  and  bade  Ken  way  good  night. 

“ I am  not  going  home  just  yet,”  he  said  ; “ i have  to  go  to  a place.” 

The  night  was  line,  and  Morse  walked  for  a while.  He  had  a light 
coat  thrown  o*er  his  dr<  ss  coat.  His  tall  figure  and  commanding 
presence  made  him  conspicuous.  Once  or  twice,  as  Kenway  followed 
him  at  a little  distance  through  Berkeley  Square  and  into  Dover  Street 
and  Piccadilly,  some  one  recognized  Morse,  and  looked  after  him  and 
mentioned  his  name. 

As  Ken  way  followed  him?  Yes;  Kenway  was  a man  who  dearly 
loved  to  find  out  things  about  people.  He  had  a fixed  idea  that  there 
was  something  to  be  found  out  about  every  man,  if  one  only  gave  him- 
self to  the  task  of  detection.  He  was  very  curious  to  know  where  a 
man  like  Morse  could  be  going  at  that  late  hour  of  the  Sunday  night. 
It  might  be  a good  thing,  he  thought,  in  any  case  to  make  some  dis- 
covery, if  there  were  any  to  be  made.  No  one  could  say  when  such 
knowledge  might  not  come  in  usefully ; at  all  events,  it  would  be  well 
to  know.  Kenway  smiled;  almost  chuckled — a somewhat  malign 
chuckle.  A good  many  conflicting  feelings  were  at  work  within  him 
that  evening.  He  had  been  obliged  once  or  twice  to  readjust  his 
mental  attitude.  Several  things  bad  surprised  him.  It  had  surprised 
him  that  his  wife  should  appear  at  ease,  should  even  shine,  in  the 
society  of  Morse  and  his  friends.  He  himself  had  felt  a little  out  of  it 
all.  Though  he  swelled  with  exultation  at  the  thought  of  having  been 
taken  up  and  introduced  at  the  Universe  by  Morse,  he  was  neverthe- 
less galled  by  a consciousness  of  inferiority.  He  was  glad  to  see  that 
Morse  admired  Koorali.  He  meant  to  turn  the  fact  to  his  own  advan- 
tage ; yet,  it  irritated  him  too,  and  Koorali’s  evident  admiration  of 
Morse  made  him  jealous  in  a vague,  pettish  way.  It  w7as  he  himself, 
her  husband,  who  should  be  KourMi’s  hero — not  any  other  man.  He 
would  like  to  show  her  that  Morse  was  not  so  far  above  the  peccadilloes 
t)f  ordinary  men.  Morse,  he  thought,  always  postured  as  such  a 


"AND  SO— HALLO! 


81 


stately  and  serious  sort  of  person.  It  would  be  good  fun  if  he  could 
find  out  something  about  Morse  which  would  astonish  Koorali.  The 
chance  of  doing  this  gave  a fresh  impulse  to  Kenway ’s  sleuth-hound 
instincts.  The  suspicion  in  his  mind  was  that  Morse’s  midnight 
mission  would  prove  to  be  of  a distincly  non-political  character. 
Kenway  was  highly  amused  already;  he  enjoyed  the  discovery  in 
anticipation.  He  always  gloated  over  hints  of  scandal  in  high  places. 
What  he  could  not  understand  was,  why  Morse  should  walk.  Why 
did  he  not  get  into  a cab?  Surely  he  must  know  that  there  was  at 
least  a chance  of  people  recognizing  him.  But  that  is  just  the  way 
with  men,  Kenway  said  to  himself  philosophically;  they  are  always 
most  incautious  when  the  condition  of  things  especially  calls  for  caution. 

The  reason  why  Morse  walked  was  because  the  night  was  fine  and 
Morse  loved  walking,  especially  at  night.  He  was  hardly  ever  seen  in 
a carriage;  he  rode  or  he  walked.  He  did  not  ride  much  in  the  Row; 
he  went  out  to  Hampstead  Heath  or  to  one  of  the  commons  on  the 
south  side  and  hid  a hard  gallop  there;  and  he  took  long  walks  when 
he  could.  He  loved  a walk  through  the  streets  at  night;  he  loved  to 
study  the  changed  aspect  of  the  great  city,  and  to  see  familiar  hits  of 
London  made  unfamiliar  and  poetic  by  moonlight  or  starlight,  or  by 
mist  and  darkness.  To  him  there  was  a fascination  in  the  vistas  of 
lights ; in  the  dim  outlines  of  the  buildings ; in  the  moving  crowd — 
eyes  flashing  into  his  for  an  instant,  suggesting  perhaps  the  tragedy 
of  a life;  forms  hurrying  by  and  then  lost  in  the  dimness.  He  was 
moved  in  a strange  way  by  the  contrasts  in  this  “ under- world,”  as  it 
seemed — of  wealth  and  squalor,  of  vice  and  innocence,  of  gloom  and 
brightness,  mysterious  alleys,  dark  and  sad  as  hell,  leading  from  some 
gay  resoit,  over  which  shone  silvery  electric  light  that  might  have 
been  the  radiance  of  heaven. 

He  paused  now  for  a second  in  an  almost  deserted  street,  struck  by 
the  effect  of  a short  avenue  of  red  gas  lamps,  converging  to  a point 
from  which  an  indistinct  shape  and  two  brilliant  staring  eyes — the 
lamps  of  a hansom  cab— flew  towards  him.  As  he  walked  along  he 
was  not  thinking  of  the  fencing  of  diplomatists,  of  squabbles  about  a 
frontier,  of  the  chances  of  a Liberal  majority,  of  the  probability  that 
he  would  be  called  upon  to  lead  a Radical  ministry.  He  liked  to  be 
lifted  out  of  the  prosaic  world  of  politics  for  a while,  and  he  distinctly 
held  the  position  that  the  night,  even  among  streets,  is  always  poetic. 
That  vein  in  Morse’s  nature  which  had  poetry  and  mysticism  in  it 
seemed  to  fill  and  flow  under  the  influence  of  night. 

So  they  came,  Morse  and  his  follower,  to  Leicester  Square.  Leices- 
ter Square  on  Sunday  evening  had  a very  different  look  from  that 
which  it  wore  on  a week  night.  Three  sides  of  it  were  in  shadow. 
Only  the  north  end,  where  there  were  several  restaurants  and  a 
chemist’s  shop,  with  big  red  and  green  lamps,  gave  any  suggestion  of 
its  usual  flaring  illumination.  The  theatres  seemed  strangely  forlorn, 
and  the  Alhambra,  with  its  dome-like  roof,  its  long  dark  windows,  its 
pale  front  and  fantastic  decorations,  had  a sad  and  ghostly  appearance. 


82 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE* 


There  were  but  few  people  about ; a hansom  now  and  then  clattered  up 
to  the  door  of  one  of  the  restaurants,  where  the  homeless  stranger  could 
have  a Sunday  dinner.  Kenway  followed  Morse  to  the  opening  of  a 
dim  and  narrow  street  leading  northward  out  of  the  square.  The 
street  began  in  light  and  went  on  into  mere  darkness.  At  the  near 
coiner  was  a brilliantly  lighted  French  restaurant,  one  glass  side  open- 
ing on  the  square.  Opposite  it,  the  houses  were  dark,  and  further  on, 
at  the  same  side  as  the  restaurant,  they  were  dark  too.  Except  for 
two  dim  gas  lamps  nearly  at  the  top  of  the  street,  all  the  light  seemed 
concentrated  here,  and  any  one  passing  the  illuminated  windows  could 
be  seen  as  clearly  as  in  daylight. 

Morse  paused  a moment,  glanced  quickly  up  the  street,  then  crossed 
over  to  the  side  in  shadow.  He  walked  a little  way  along  the  pave- 
ment,  turned,  and  crossed  again.  Between  the  restaurant  and  the 
adjoining  block  was  a small  flagged  courtyard,  enclosed  by  buildings 
except  where  it  was  fenced  off  from  the  road  by  an  iron  railing.  It 
was  feebly  lighted  by  two  round  lamps  facing  each  other,  hung  over  doors, 
above  one  of  which  was  painted  “ Concierge.”  The  hotel  itself  stood  far 
back,  a grey  sunken  house,  with  an  abutting  sort  of  colonnade,  and  a 
mean  entrance  door.  The  upper  windows  were  dark,  except  one,  and 
that  was  curtained  by  a thick  white  blind.  The  house  was  lower  than 
its  neighbours,  and  between  the  chimney-pots  patches  of  grey  sky 
showed,  and  a thin  moon  was  just  rising.  It  all  looked  dim,  mys- 
terious, and  suggestive  of  intrigue.  Innumerable  memories  of  French 
novels  floated  into  Ken  way’s  mind.  Morse  entered  the  courtyard,  and 
went  into  the  hotel.  Ken  way  had  been  watching  from  a vantage 
point  a little  way  up  the  street  on  the  opposite  side.  When  Morse 
had  gone  in,  Kenway  came  down  and  had  a look  at  the  place.  The 
courtyard  was  deserted  again.  A French  chambermaid  in  a white  cap 
with  gauffred  frills  and  streamers  ran  across,  her  sabots  clacking,  and 
disappeared  into  the  concierge’s  office.  Kenway  skulked  into  the 
courtyard.  He  thought  he  heard  voices  in  the  lighted  room  upstairs. 
Once  or  twice  he  saw  the  shadow  of  a man  cross  tlm  blind.  He  could 
almost  have  sworn  that  he  caught  a glimpse  of  Morse’s  Napoleonic 
profile.  After  a while  there  were  no  more  shadows.  Kenway  peered 
round.  The  place  had  an  odd  foreign  look,  strange  in  the  heart  of 
London.  Sickly  shrubs  in  green  boxes  stood  about.  There  was  an 
old  gun  carriage  in  the  centre  of  the  court,  with  a beam  of  timber 
painted  a dull  Laden  blue,  doing  duty  as  cannon,  but  with  a pile  of 
genuine  balls  formidably  arranged  below.  “Just  like  England’s 
defences,”  Kenway  snarled  and  chuckled  to  himself.  “ If  we  have  the 
guns,  we  haven’t  the  bullets;  if  we  have  the  buliets,  we  haven’t  the 
guns.  Things  won’t  be  much  better  under  a Peace  Society  Prime 
Minister,  I fancy.”  It  relieved  him  to  say  this,  although  only  to  him- 
self ; and  he  crossed  the  street  again  and  kept  pacing  up  and  down  on 
the  look-out. 

It  was  slow  work  waiting  there  that  Sunday  night;  but  Kenway 
waited.  Ilis  sleuth-hound  instincts  were  aided  in  their  work  by  a 


*AND  SO— HALLO/ 


83 

patience  as  untiring  as  that  of  the  forest  Indian  watching  his  prey,  or 
that  of  a heron  perched  on  some  jammed-up  log  in  a river  bank,  and 
waiting  for  a fish  to  give  him  a chance  of  a dinner.  Occasionally  some 
woman  tried  to  get  into  talk  with  Kenway  as  he  paced  slowly  up  and 
down ; he  answered  her  with  a word  or  twTo  of  good-humoured  jest, 
and  civilly  shook  her  off.  Now  and  then  a policeman  eyed  him 
curiously,  but  soon,  with  a policeman’s  instinct,  saw  that  Kenway  was 
what  is  called  a gentleman,  and  that  there  was  nothing  in  his  case  to 
have  interest  for  the  “worthy  magistrate”  on  Monday  morning. 
More  than  once  a half-drunken  wayfarer  staggered  up  and  accosted 
him  with  “ Give  us  a light,  governor,  won’t  you  ? ” and  Kenway,  always 
with  the  most  perfect  good  humour  and  politeness,  took  out  his  silver 
matchbox  with  its  ingeniously-contorted  monogram,  and  gave  the 
requested  fire.  It  was  not  always  to  much  account,  for  more  than  one 
wayfarer  found  his  legs  too  unsteady  and  his  pipe  too  capricious  to  be 
able  to  benefit  by  the  kindness  of  the  “ governor.”  Kenway  was  quite 
in  his  element,  and  liked  the  whole  thing  immensely.  He  was  con- 
vinced that  he  was  about  to  find  something  out. 

At  last  he  saw  two  men  come  out  of  the  door  of  the  hotel.  The 
men  passed  across  the  courtyard,  and  their  figures  were  clearly  out- 
lined against  the  light  in  the  lower  windows.  Morse  was  one.  There 
was  no  mistaking  that  figure  and  that  walk.  But  who  was  the  other  ? 
The  two  went  down  the  street,  on  the  side  opposite  to  that  where 
Ken  way  stood  in  shadow ; they  did  not  look  in  his  direction,  but  he 
could  see  them  distinctly.  He  could  hear  their  voices,  although  he 
could  not  make  out  what  they  were  saying.  Now  the  light  of  a lamp 
fell  straight  and  full  on  them,  and  Kenway  saw,  to  his  disappointment 
at  first,  that  the  other  man  was  Masterson.  No  creature  could  be  got 
to  associate  the  name  of  Masterson  with  any  manner  of  amorous 
adv<  nture  or  any  gambling-house  transaction.  His  presence  alone 
would  make  scandal  of  that  kind  an  impossibility.  Had  Kenway 
thrown  all  his  time,  his  sleuth-hound  instinct,  his  patience,  utterly 
away  ? 

No;  another  idea  suddenly  flashed  upon  him.  Why,  this  is  better 
still ; the  best  that  could  be ! That  house  is  the  head-quarters  of  some 
socialist  and  democratic  conspiracy,  and  Morse  has  been  induced  to 
take  some  part  in  it.  Morse,  the  man  who  hopes  to  be  Prime  Minister 
of  England,  comes  down  so  low  as  to  mix  himself  up  with  the  mid- 
night councils  of  a gang  of  socialist  and  cosmopolitan  revolutionists. 
It  must  be  so,  it  cannot  be  anything  else.  Why,  this  is  more  interest- 
ing than  all  the  gaming  transactions  from  Monaco  to  the  Mississippi. 
Kenway  went  nearer  to  the  house.  There  must  be  others  there;  theyr 
would  come  out;  he  would  see  what  manner  of  men  they  were.  His 
patience  was  soon  rewarded;  the  men  began  to  come  out  in  little  knots 
of  two  and  three.  Most  of  them  we*e  of  the  class  of  the  regular 
London  socialist;  most  were  London  working  men.  Even  with 
Ken  way’s  limited  knowledge  of  such  London  life,  he  could  read  their 
class  and  their  political  creed  in  their  earnest,  eager,  wistful  faces. 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


84 

But  there  were  others,  too;  there  were  foreign  democrats,  talking 
rapidly,  some  in  French,  some  in  German,  some  in  Italian.  Two  or 
three,  who  came  out  together,  conversed  in  a soft-sounding  tongue 
wnich  was  unfamiliar  to  Kenway.  He  did  not  understand  German  or 
Italian;  but  he  knew  that  this  was  German  and  that  Italian  when  he 
heard  it  spoken.  This  language  was  entirely  strange  to  him.  He  felt 
a special  interest  in  the  men  who  spoke  it,  and  he  went  their  way.  He 
kept  up  with  them,  he  walking  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  They 
were  going  eastward;  he  might  as  well  go  eastward  too,  fora  little  way. 

A new  thought  struck  him.  Why  not  contrive  to  interchange  a 
word  or  two  with  them  ? He  took  out  his  cigar-case,  and  acted  on 
the  hint  given  him  by  his  “ governor”  acquaintances.  He  crossed  the 
street,  and  asked  if  any  of  the  gentlemen  could  give  him  a light.  They 
all  stopped  very  civilly,  and  one  of  them  tendered  to  him  a box  of  fusees. 
A few  courteous  words  were  naturally  exchanged ; two  of  the  men  at 
least  spoke  fluent  and  perfect  English,  with  only  a faint  foreign  accent ; 
the  third  man  said  nothing;  perhaps  he  could  not  speak  English. 
They  were  dressed  in  a way  which  suggested  a cross  between  struggling 
artist  and  continental  working-man  ; between  the  Latin  Quarter  and 
the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine.  Ken  way  had  a keen  eye,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  garb  wars  a get-up,  that  they  were  not  wearing  their 
own  clothes,  that  they  were  socially  of  a better  class  than  their  out- 
ward appearance  was  meant  to  suggest.  The  quiet,  courteous,  self- 
assured  way  in  which  they  all  stopped  the  moment  he  spoke  to  them 
satisfied  him  that  they  were,  in  Society’s  language,  “ gentlemen.”  “I 
rather  fancy  I know  a gentleman  when  I see  him,”  Kenway  said  to 
himself.  Kenway  was  always  assuring  himself  and  conveying  to 
others  that  he  was  a constituted  authority  on  all  questions  relating  to 
the  composition,  origin,  and  ways  of  a gentleman. 

Now,  then,  here  is  the  problem.  A secret  meeting  long  after  mid- 
night in  an  out-of-the-way  quarter — for  Morse;  the  meeting  attended 
by  Masterson,  the  wild  re volui ionary  socialist,  who  was  always  threat- 
ening that  he  and  his  men  would  descend  into  the  streets  ; by  several 
foreign  democrats,  for  such  they  evidently  were ; and  by  three  men, 
dressed  as  artisans,  who  were  clearly  not  aitisans,  and  who  spoke  a 
language  Kenway  had  never  heard  before,  while  two  of  them  could 
also  speak  fluent  and  cultured  English.  What  was  the  language  the 
three  spoke?  Ken  way  was  not  long  in  jumping  to  a conclusion. 
Why,  what  should  it  be  but  the  language  of  the  country  with  which 
England  was  likely  to  go  to  war?  And  at  the  secret  midnight  council 
in  which  these  men  took  part,  in  which  Masterson  took  part,  in  which 
foreign  revolutionaries  took  part,  the  iuture  Prime  Minister  of  England 
was  also  taking  part!  Come,  that  was  something  to  know,  at  all 
events.  There  might,  no  doubt,  be  some  highly  satisfactory  explana- 
tion ; but  the  thing  was  curious.  It  was  well  to  have  found  out  what 
Kenway  had  found  out.  He*  went  home  well  phased — more  than 
pleased,  highly  delighted,  with  his  night’s  work. 

Now,  what  were  Morse  and  Masterson  saying  as  they  passed  near  to 


“AND  SO— HALLO!”  85 

where  Crichton  Konway  wns  standing  in  the  shadow,  watching  them 
and  trying  to  make  oat  their  words  ? 

“lam  afraid  it  is  of  no  use,”  Morse  said  in  a low  tone;  “I  don’t 
see  my  way.  I am  with  your  objects  to  a certain  extent;  you  know 
that.  I am  a republican  on  principle.  I don’t  despair  of  seeing  a 
republic  established  here,  even  in  my  time.  I think  our  people  could 
work  a republic  better  than  any  other  people  in  the  world.  I hope  to 
found  a republican  party,  open  and  avowed,  if  only  as  a training 
school.  But  you  can’t  force  the  thing  in  England.” 

“ That  is  the  way  of  ail  you  so-called  practical  men,”  Masterson 
said  angrily.  “You  see  nothing;  you  foresee  nothing.  The  revolu- 
tion is  at  your  gates— hammering  at  your  gates,  and  you  are  deaf;  and 
you  hlieve  that  to-morrow  must  be  just  the  same  as  to-day.” 

“ I don’t.  1 want  to  prepare  for  a to-morrow.  An  accident  might 
bring  the  whole  thing  to  a smash.  A big  defeat  in  some  war  ” — Morse 
spoke  now  with  measured  emphasis — “which  was  believed  to  be 
favoured  by  the  Court,  one  big  defeat,  might  upset  the  dynasty.  The 
English  people  have  not  been  tried  in  that  sort  of  furnace  yet.  Perhaps 
they  would  be  found  not  a whit  more  patient  than  the  French.  We 
may  see  that  tested ; perhaps.  After  all,  I am  the  best  friend  of  the 
dynasty,  I think,”  he  added,  with  a smile,  “for  I am  doing  my  very 
best  to  prevent  the  test  from  being  applied.” 

“Will  you  even  join  with  us  to  stop  the  succession  at  the  end  of 
this  reign?  We  have  our  plans  and  our  resources.  The  country  will 
have  had  enough  of  royalty  by  that  time ; sane  men  won’t  be  inclined 
to  give  it  a fresh  lease  under  worse  conditions.” 

Morse  shook  his  head.  They  wvre  now  walking  along  the  darker 
side  of  Piccadilly,  and  had  got  to  the  railings  of  the  Green  Park  and 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  trees. 

“ To  speak  openly,  Masterson,  T doubt  the  plans,  and  I don’t  believe 
in  the  resources.  But  I don’t  mind  telling  you  that  if  I were  alive  at 
the  end  of  the  present  reign,  and  I saw  any  genuine  and  wide-spread 
desire  on  the  part  of  the  English  people  not  to  start  a new  reign,  I 
should — well ” 

“ Give  the  subject  your  best  consideration,  I dare  fay,”  Masterson 
interposed  scornfully.  “ That  is  your  ministerial  way  of  putting  things 
in  Parliament,  isn’t  it?” 

“No,”  said  Morse,  composedly;  “ I should  go  with  that  desire,  and 
do  my  best  to  carry  it  out,  let  the  end  land  me  where  it  would.  That’s 
all  I have  to  say.” 

“Well,”  Masterson  said,  after  a long  pause,  “that  is  better  than 
nothing;  especially  from  you  who  mean  all  you  say,  and  more.  But 
you  do  not  go  with  us,  in  the  meantime?” 

“ No ; positively  not.  You  are  all  in  the  clouds,  and  I am  only  able 
to  walk  the  firm  earth.” 

“ Then  what  do  you  think  of  our  general  purposes ; our  broader  and 
more  comprehensive  purposes ; our  purposes  for  all  humanity  : not  for 
England  alone  ? ” 


86 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


Morse  turned  to  Masterson  with  a look  of  somethr  g like  compassion. 
Theri  he  said — “ Your  cosmopolitanism  ? I don’t  like  the  thing  at  all. 
And  I tell  you  frankly,  Masterson,  I couldn’t  have  anything  to  do  with 
it.  I don't  believe  one  bit  in  mixing  up  our  affairs  with  those  of  your 
continental  democrats.  Their  aims  are  not  ours;  their  ways  are  not 
ours.  We  want  reform,  and  they  understand  nothing  but  revolution, 
and  social  revolution,  too ” 

“ So  do  I,”  Masterson  broke  in.  “I  want  social  revolution  ; in  other 
words,  I want  the  salvation  of  England.  Nothing  but  social  revolution 
can  save  her.” 

“Yes;  but  your  social  revolution  is  not  their  social  revolution,  don’t 
you  see?  You  can't  long  work  together.  Besides,  look  here,  I don’t 
l;ke  these  three  gentlemanlike  fellows  at  all.  I do  not  trust  them. 
For  God’s  sake;  Masterson,  don’t  you  trust  in  them ! Do  you  really 
believe  that  these  men,  who  belong  to  the  -country  which  five  out  of 
every  six  Englishmen  declare  to  be  our  unrelenting  enemy,  can  have 
the  interest  of  England  at  heart  ? ” 

“ Not  the  interest  of  Engl  md,’’  Masterson  said  sharply.  “ You  don’t 
underst  nd,  Morse;  you  won’t  understand.  They  have  the  interest  of 
humanity  at  heart;  the  interest  of  the  brotherhood  of  both  countiies, 
and  of  all  countries.  Good  heavens!  is  it  possible  you  don’t  see  that 
there  is  some  stronger  and  not  ler  bond  than  the  mere  chance  bond  of 
nationality?  It  is  strange  that  a man  like  you  should  so  cruelly  mis- 
understand men  like  them.” 

“ Will  you  bear  to  be  told  what  I think  of  them  ? ” Morse  asked, 
and  he  stopped  short  and  put  his  hand  gently  on  Masterson’s  shoulder. 
“ Dear  old  friend,  will  you  be  offended  with  me  if  I tell  you  what  I 
suspect — for  y«>ur  own  sake  ? ” 

“ Say  anything  you  like,  Morse ; I can  stand  it  from  you.” 

“ Well,  then,  1 strongly  suspect  that  these  men  are  the  secret  agents 
of  that  Government  which  they  profess  to  detest;  the  Government  of 
their  own  country.” 

“ oh !”  Masterson  drew  away  with  a cry  and  a look  of  utter  disgust. 
“ I am  horrified,  Morse ! Such  a suspicion,  so  unworthy  of  you ! 
These  true-hearted,  devoted  men!  You  must  see  more  of  them.  You 
must  learn  to  know  them.” 

“ No,  old  man ; I don’t  want  to  see  them  again.  I only  wish  I could 
get  you  not  to  see  them  again.” 

Masterson  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

“ Well,  I know  it  hn’fc  easy  to  turn  you  from  any  opinion  or  any 
purpose;  and  I can  only  say  I am  sorry  I couldn’t  have  anything  to 
do  with  the  business,  Masterson.  Nothing  good  will  come  of  it ; nothing 
but  harm.  I would  save  my  dear  old  friend  from  it  if  I could,  but  I 
can’t;  and  so— hallo!” 

“So  what?”  Masterson  asked  in  wonder,  at  what  seemed  to  him 
unmeaning  levity. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  Morse  said,  with  a smile.  “ It’s  a tries  I got 
from  Richter,  Jean  Paul,  you  know— a way  he  has  of  putting  an  end 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER, 


n 

to  some  argument  that  can’t  come  to  anything.  My  wife  and  I have 
fallen  into  the  way  of  using  it,  and  have  dismissed  many  an  unmanage- 
able subject  with  ‘and  so — hallo!’  Well,  I can’t  convince  y«»u, 
Masterson,  and  you  can’t  convince  me;  but  we  are  good  friends  still, 
and  ever  shall  be  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  I trust;  and  so— hallo!  ” 
Masterson  was  not  much  of  a humourist,  but  a sort  of  faint  percep- 
tion stole  upon  him  that  this,  indeed,  was  about  as  good  a way  a*  any 
of  getting  out  of  a hopeless  controversy.  He  made  a brave  effort  to  n’se 
for  once  to  the  level  of  a j ke,  and  as  they  were  ah  >ut  to  part  in  Picca- 
dilly he  fell  back  a little,  then  came  towards  Morse,  grasped  his  hand 
with  a grip  of  strength — to  which  Morse  replied  by  a grip  still  stronger 
— and  exclaimed — 

“ And  so — hallo ! ” 

Then  they  went  literally  and  figuratively  their  different  ways. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  FAMILY  DINNER. 

**  The  Family,”  to  use  Crichton  Kenway’s  expression,  represented  in 
Koorali’s  imagination  an  awful  and  indefinite  quantity,  the  length, 
breadth,  and  depth  of  which  she  felt  hopeless  of  gauging. 

For  some  time  after  her  arrival  in  England  she  was  bewildered  by 
the  fact  that  the  family  were  not  Ken  ways  at  all.  The  only  Ken  ways 
besides  themselves  appeared  to  be  a younger  brother  of  her  husband — 
between  whom  and  Crichton  there  had  been  an  ill-feeling  which  now 
seemed  to  retard  their  affectionate  meeting — and  his  wife,  a Sheffield 
heiress,  whom  he  had  lately  married,  and  concerning  whose  manners 
and  parentage  dark  hints  and  ominous  presages  circulated.  'Ihese 
apparently  were  not  included  in  the  family. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  Mrs.  Kenway,  Crichton’s  mother,  who  lived 
with  a companion  in  a street  near  Bryanston  Square ; but  she  was  an 
old  lady  with  a chronic  malady,  which  had  slightly  impared  her  wits. 
Her  limp  personality  was  not  held  in  much  account  even  by  her  son ; 
and  this  seemed  a little  hard,  considering  that  but  for  her  the  family, 
in  relation  to  the  Kenways,  would  have  had  no  existence. 

For  Mrs.  Ken  way  had  been  a Miss  Nevile-Beauchamp,  'who  it  was 
understood  had  lowered  herself  ever  so  much  by  marrying  a man  of  no 
county  status  or  connection  with  the  aristocracy.  The  Kenways,  it 
may  be  set  forth  as  a matter  of  fact,  had  not  owned  the  Grey  Manor 
from  time  immemorial,  as  Crichton  Ken  way  would  have  liked  every 
one  to  believe.  The  Grey  Manor  had  in  reality  belonged  to  a family 
extinct  half  a century  ago,  and  one  Kenway,  a London  merchant,  had 
bought  both  manor  and  ancestry,  but  had  unfortunately  only  been  able 
to  keep  the  latter. 

The  elder  branch  of  the  Nevile-Beauchamps,  on  the  other  hand, 
claimed  kindred  with  an  historic  marquisate.  The  present  marquis 


8$ 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


was  a long  off  from  the  yonnger  branches.  There  were  a good  many 
gradations  of  lords  by  courtesy,  and  honourables,  before  he  could  be 
got  at.  Still,  there  he  was,  an  undoubted  fact.  He  was  a Catholic; 
and  this  section  of  the  Nevile-Beauchamps  in  which  the  Ken  ways  were 
merged  had  in  it  a strong  Catholic  element.  Mrs.  Kenway,  senior,  had 
been  one  of  many  brothers  and  sisters.  The  women,  it  was  curious 
to  observe,  were  more  essentially  Nevile-Beauchamps  than  the  men. 
These  had  married  and  brought  in  collateral  relations,  so  that  it  was 
no  wonder  if  Koorali  did  not  at  once  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  family. 
Some  of  them  had  married  Protestants,  with  country  estates  and  fat 
livings,  and  had  made  a compromise  in  the  matter  of  religion ; but 
they  had  nevertheless  kept  some  of  the  exclusiveness  and  narrow 
culture  which  belongs  to  the  English  Catholic  by  birth.  No  member 
was  supposed  to  take  any  important  step  in  life  except  for  general 
family  interests  and  with  the  full  concurrence  of  the  family.  This 
having  been  obtained,  the  case  admitted  of  no  further  question.  The 
Nevile-Beauchamps  had  a constitution  of  their  own,  and  new  laws 
could  be  passed,  or  old  ones  amended,  by  a majority.  To  make  an 
undignified  comparison,  “We  and  the  World”  might  have  been  chosen 
as  their  motto,  as  in  the  case  of  a certain  hen  in  one  of  Hans  Andersen’s 
stories.  No  phalanx  could  have  been  more  compact,  no  circle  rounder. 
Koorali  had  not  yet  been  made  a part  of  the  phalanx  or  admitted  into 
the  circle.  The  Nevile-Beauchamps  discouraged  alliances  outside  the 
county  families.  They  thought  that  Crichton  would  have  done  well 
to  wait,  and  choose  a wife  in  England.  He  might  become  a rising  man 
when  he  ceased  to  be  Agent-General.  The  colonies  they  considered 
rather  vulgar.  They  discovered  that  Koorali  had  been  married  without 
settlements.  A woman  with  a father  who  had  not  insisted  upon 
settlements  must  certainly  be  incapable  of  appreciating  the  serious 
responsibilities  of  life.  It  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that 
she  and  her  boys  might  fall  a burden  on  the  family.  The  family, 
therefore,  had  better  be  wary  in  its  advances.  A woman  who  had  a 
way  of  sitting  absolutely  silent  when  Conservative  politics  were  being 
discussed  must  be  an  idiot.  The  Nevile-Beauchamps  were  Tories  of 
the  rabidly  personal  kind.  They  had  no  scruples  in  declaring  that 
Mr.  Gladstone  ought  to  be  hanged,  that  Mr.  Chamberlain  deserved 
quartering  as  well,  and  that  nothing  short  of  burning  at  the  stake 
was  adequate  punishment  for  the  Home  Rulers.  Koorali  sometimes 
in  her  dreamy  way  fancied  that  there  might  be  a case  on  the  other 
side.  But  that  was  her  odd  fashion ; she  saw  two  sides  to  every 
question. 

A woman  who  never  looked  into  the  Almanack  de  Gotha  or  the 
Peerage,  who  did  not  warm  into  enthusiasm  over  the  domestic  virtues 
of  the  sovereign,  who  had  no  notion  of  working  in  crewels  or  painting 
on  china,  who  cared  nothing  about  the  class  distinction  between  upper 
and  lower  servants,  between  townsfolk  and  county  people ; to  whom 
church  preferment,  tenants’  rights,  kettledrums,  game  laws,  social 
precedence,  and  Debrett,  were  all  dark  mysteries  ; such  a woman  must 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER.  89 

surely  hide  beneath  a gentle  exterior  something  dangerous  and  antago- 
nistic to  all  that  was  most  holy  and  orthodox. 

Thus  it  was  that  at  first  Koorali  had  been  welcomed  rather  tenta- 
tively ; and  it  was  not  till  the  bride,  Mrs.  Eustace  Ken  way,  appeared 
on  the  scene  that  a serifs  of  dinner-parties  were  organized.  At  the 
second  of  these — Mrs.  Eustace  characteristically  refused  the  first — the 
two  sisters-in-law  met.  This  happened  on  the  night  of  that  very  day 
on  which  Morse  had  called  at  the  Crichton  Ken  way  s’.  Koorali  was 
dreaming.  She  seemed  to  wake  up  with  a curious,  shy  smile,  when 
any  one  spoke  to  her.  She  scarcely  knew  most  of  the  people  preseut, 
and  shrank  from  the  gaze  of  twenty  pairs  of  clear  British  eyes.  She 
felt  a nervous  dread  of  saying  the  wrong  thing.  She  had  been  tutored, 
and  forgot  her  lesson.  At  last  she  look  refuge  in  abstractedness.  Yet 
she  had  an  under- consciousness  that  Crichton  was  watching  her,  and 
was  vexed  because  she  did  not  make  a more  startling  impression. 
KooriUi  wished  a little  bitterly  that  she  had  been  born  large  and  im- 
posing, that  she  had  great  blue  eyes,  massive  shouldes,  and  withes  of 
fair  hair,  like  the  biggest  of  the  lady  cousins  present.  The  Nevile- 
Beauchamps  were  most  y large.  Even  those  with  little  flesh  had 
height,  and  nothing  about  tlum  suggestive  of  the  aerial  or  the  imagi- 
native. There  were  four  aunts,  three  of  them  freshly  arrived  from 
country  estates,  to  whom,  while  the  guests  were  assembling,  Koorali 
was  solemnly  introduced.  They  were  all  well  preserved,  well  dressed, 
their  lace  Flemish  of  fine  quality  doing  duty  for  fashion  of  cut  in 
sleeve  and  bodice ; they  all  had  bright,  hard,  observant  eyes,  thin 
practical  lips,  and  mellow  dogmatic  voices.  One  knows  the  type.  It 
is  provincial,  even  when  it  has  a town  house  and  is  mated  with  a 
baronet  and  a rent-roll.  Lady  Canteloupe  owned  a bucolic-looking 
husband,  from  whom — it  was  her  glory  to  declare — she  had  never, 
since  their  union,  been  separated  lor  a single  night.  This  had  been  the 
boast  of  her  two  predecessors.  It  was  a family  tradition.  Miss 
Nevile-Ber.uchamp  when  she  married  took  it  upon  her  shoulders. 
Lady  Canteloupe  had  once  had  congestion  of  the  lungs,  and  a physician 
had  advised  a winter  in  the  South.  Could  Sir  John  be  torn  from  his 
shorthorns?  No.  The  Canteloupes  never  went  abroad.  The  Cante- 
loupe ladies  died  at  home.  Lady  Canteloupe  was  true  to  her  adupted 
traditions;  but  she  got  better. 

Aunt  Eccleswortli  was  more  buxom,  but  not  less  severe.  There  was 
a faint  suggestion  of  the  fox-hunting  element  about  her.  Perhaps  she 
had  caught  it  from  her  husband,  who  was  an  M.F.H.,  and  her  two 
daughters  good  cross-country  riders,  healthy,  vigorous  damsels,  with 
no  nonsense  about  them. 

Aunt  Le  Marchant  was  great  apparently  at  agriculture,  and  was  dis- 
cussing siloes  with  a benevolent  elderly  Mr.  Nevile-Beauchamp  when 
Koorali  made  her  little  obeisance. 

‘‘Mrs.  Crichton  Ken  way!  IPs  Mrs.  Eustace  who  has  the  money, 
and  you  are  the  Australian.  Yes ; I went  to  see  poor  Louisa  this 
afternoon,  and  she  explained  it  to  me  as  well  as  she  could,  poor  dear. 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.” 


90 

I have  come  to  town  expressly  to  be  near  her,  and  look  after  her  a 
little.  I hope  you  like  England,  Mrs.  Crichton.  Do  } ou  have  agricul- 
tural  depression  in  Australia 

“ We  have  a good  deal  'of  depression,”  answered  Koorali  simply. 
“It’s  generally  among  sheep  and  cattle.” 

“ Exactly,”  said  Mr.  Nevile-Beauchamp,  who  spoke  with  a drawl, 
and  always  preface  d his  remarks  with  an  ejaculation.  He  turned  a 
close-shaven  face,  with  the  bland  imperturbable  look  of  a Japanese  doll, 
on  Koorali.  “Here  it’s  generally  among  landlords  and  glebe-owners.” 

Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp,  who  was  the  host,  and  had  made  the 
introduction,  laughed  softly,  and  drew  Koorali  on.  Mrs.  Le  Marchant 
was  now  in  a position  to  state  that  the  new  niece-in-law  might  be 
pretty,  but  was  certainly  very  odd-looking,  and  had  fearfully  colonial 
manners. 

Her  husband  is  a Squarson,”  said  Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp,  as 
though  he  were  explaining  everything.  Koorali  only  vaguely  wondered 
what  a Squarson  might  be.  She  was  not  familiar  with  the  witticisms 
of  Sydney  Smith.  Just  then  a Miss  Nevile-Beauchamp  acc- 'Sted  her 
— another  aunt,  who,  however,  was  unmarried,  and  liked  to  be  called 
by  her  Christian  name — appropriately  Diana —without  a prefix.  She 
had  already  made  Koorali’s  acquaintance. 

“ I was  going  to  call  on  you  to-day,”  she  said ; “ but  I have  had  so 
much  to  do  shopping,  and  the  Le  Marchants  staying;  and  though  it 
is  a great  pleasure  to  have  any  of  the  relations  with  us — we  are  such 
a united  family — still,  taking  them  up  and  setting  them  down,  and 
pictures,  and  their  boys  to  be  entertained,  and  special  services  and 
German  Reeds  and  Maskelyne  and  Cooke — it  all  makes  so  much  for 
the  carriage.  We  went  to  a lecture  at  the  British  Museum,  this  after- 
noon,” continued  Miss  Diana.  “ It  was  on  Egyptian  antiquities  and 
inscriptions,  by  a lady.  She  had  got  it  all  up  out  of  books,  and  all  the 
ancient  customs,  and  the  hieroglyphics,  and  the  Pyramids,  don’t  you 
know.  But  as  she  had  never  been  in  the  country,  I thought  we  might 
have  read  it  all  up  for  ourselves.  And  then  these  dynamitards  are 
going  to  blow  up  the  British  Museum  next;  and  I didn’t  really  think 
it  was  worth  risking  our  lives — now,  do  you  ? ” 

Koorali  assented. 

Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp  approached.  She  was  the  hostess — the 
Kitty  of  whom  Crichton  had  spoken,  who  had  social  ambition,  and 
W'ould  like  to  know  Lady  Betty  Morse.  She  was  a little  woman,  with 
a purring  voice  and  cat-like  feminine  ways.  Her  face  was  soft  and 
rather  pretty.  She  dressed  trimly  in  perfect  taste,  and  knew  just  the 
right  amount  of  rouge  to  put  on,  and  just  how  far  her  eyebrows  and 
eyelashes  might  be  accentuated.  She  had  a little  air  of  feline  dignity 
and  rectitude,  and  of  admirable  self-confidence.  She  went  in  rather 
for  fads  in  decoration,  pretty  devices  in  lamp  shades,  a hotch-potch  of 
effects — bulrushes  and  blue  china.  She  had  gained  quite  a reputation 
among  the  Nevile-Beauchamps  for  originality  and  the  brilliance  of  her 
entertainments.  If  she  had  not  been  accepted  without  reservations 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER. 


9i 


the  family  might  have  felt  a little  scandalized  sometimes  at  the  highly 
respectable  samples  of  the  literary,  artistic,  and  theatrical  professions 
to  be  seen  occasionally  at  her  parties.  As  it  was,  Kitty  was  indulged 
and  admired  as  being  “ quite  unlike  anybody  else;”  and  when  she 
gave  her  dress  a little  pat,  preened  her  small  head,  and  observed  in  her 
staccato  manner,  with  her  little  emphases  here  and  there,  “ I do  not 
say  that  I am  an  authority,  but  I think  it  right  just  to  contribute  m3 
tiny  suggestion,”  that  always  settled  a mooted  point. 

“ I have  a letter  for  you,  dear  Diana.  I do  maintain  that  I take  no 
responsibility,  though  I know  what  it  is  about — a bazaar  in  which  I 
am  interested.  It  was  sent  to  me  to  be  posted,  and  now  I can  give  it 
to  you  and  get  it  off  my  mind.” 

“A  bazaar!”  exclaimed  Miss  Nevile-Beauchamp.  “Oh,  I hope  no 
one  has  asked  me  to  do  anything.  I really  cannot.  I am  far  too  busy. 
If  it  had  been  for  some  charity  in  London — but  a coffee-house  in  the 
country  ! Put  it  in  the  waste-paper  basket,  dear — or  stay,  I may  as 
well  keep  the  unused  stamp.” 

Miss  Nevile-Beauchamn  carefully  detached  the  stamp,  and  just  then, 
as  Mrs.  Kitty  was  remarking,  “It  really  is  too  bad  of  people  to  keep 
every  one  else  waiting,”  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eustace  Ivenway  were  announced. 

The  heiress  got  her  clothes  in  Paris,  that  was  evident.  Only  Worth 
could  have  produced  so  startling  an  arrangement.  The  marvellous 
satin  petticoat  embroidered  in  wreaths  of  gold  and  silver,  cunningly 
interspersed  with  humming-birds’  plumage ; the  gorgeous  velvet  train, 
the  twinkling  diamonds,  the  high-heeled  buckled  shoes,  the  humming- 
bird fan  of  Palais  Pvoyal  design,  the  long  gold-embroidered  gloves,  all 
these  details  quite  distracted  attention  for  a moment  from  the  face  and 
figure  of  Mrs.  Eustace  Kenway  herself. 

“ Oh,  what  bad  style ; what  very  bad  style ! ” murmured  Lady 
Canteloupe. 

“ Money  in  the  funds — not  land,”  briefly  commented  the  wife  of  the 
Squarson. 

“ Puts  one  in  mind  of  ‘ New  Men  and  Old  Acres,’  or  something  of 
that  sort,”  whispered  Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp  to  KoorMi. 

But  the  face,  with  its  clear  skin — a little  too  russet  in  tint — its 
open,  brown,  dog-like  eyes,  its  somewhat  blunt  features  and  crop  of 
short  dark  hair  curled  closely  to  the  head,  was  frank,  fresh,  and 
taking ; and  the  figure,  though  it  was  square  and  robust,  with  much 
roughness  of  movement  and  gesture,  had  a certain  British,  milkmaid 
comeliness  of  its  own— the  sort  of  face  and  figure  suited  to  a linen 
blouse  or  flannel  boating-dress,  which  would  have  seemed  at  home  in 
a hay  field,  on  a tennis  ground,  romping  with  dogs,  or  wielding  a pair  <»f 
sculls  ; but  which  was  singularly  out  of  keeping  with  Parisian  fripperies. 

Mrs.  Eustace,  coming  forward  with  firmly  planted  feet  and  squared 
elbows,  like  a school-girl  in  a hurry,  made  her  apol  \gies. 

“ I am  afraid  we  are  b-beastly  late,”  she  began.  JSlie  had  the  slightest 
hesitation  in  her  speech,  and  fought  a little  with  her  school- boy  slang. 
“ It  was  all  Eustace’s  fault,  though.  He  won’t  hurry.  I can’t  make 


92 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


him  hurry.  I like  to  go  through  life  quick — d-double  trot.  He  don’t* 
I’m  always  ready  before  him.  Ain’t  I,  Jo?” 

She  appealed,  as  she  shook  hands  with  her  hostess,  to  a dark  pretty  girl 
following  behind,  dressed  very  quietly  in  black,  who  answered  meekly — 
“ Yes,  Zen  ; you  are  always  ready.” 

The  brothers  said,  “ How  do  you  do  ? ” as  unemotionally  as  though 
they  had  only  been  parted  a dozen  hours.  Eustace  did  not  look  as 
though  he  could  be  emotional.  He  was  rather  after  Crichton’s  pattern, 
only  not  so  tall,  and  without  his  long  neck.  He  was  more  withered 
up  and  neutral-looking.  He  wore  an  eye-glass.  His  clothes,  or  some- 
thing about  him,  gave  one  the  impression  that  he  had  lived  a good 
deal  in  Paris.  By  the  time  he  had  made  his  new  sister’s  acquaintance 
the  move  to  dinner  began.  Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp  led  the  way 
with  Koorali,  and,  as  a compromise,  Eustace  Kenway  brought  up  the 
rear  with  Mrs.  Kitty. 

“ I met  a friend  of  yours  the  other  night,  at  Lady  Betty  Morse’s 
party,  Mrs.  Eustace,”  said  Crichton  Ken  way  across  the  table  to  his 
sister-in-law.  “ Lord  Arden,  I mean.” 

Mrs.  Eustace  had  just  answered  the  Master  of  Foxhounds’  question 

whether  she  liked  hunting  with  the  declaration 

“It’s  the  only  b-blooming  thing  I can  do.”  She  paused  a moment, 
and  there  was  an  odd  little  change  in  her  voice,  as  she  said,  “ I don’t 
know  Lord  Arden  well.  I shouldn’t  say  he  was  a friend  of  mine.  I 
met  him  in  Home,  ever  so  long  ago.  My  mother  took  me  to  Rome. 
She  said  it  would  improve  my  mind.  I did  my  Peter’s  and  my  Vati- 
can, but  it  didn’t  improve  me,  not  one  little  bit.” 

“Now,  really!”  drawled  Mr.  Nevile-Beauchamp,  who  was  always  a 
little  behind  the  conversation.  “ Hunting  the  only  thing  you  can  do  ! 
But  there  is  something  else,  Mrs.  Eustace  ? You  know  how  to  talk 
slang.” 

“ Yes,”  returned  Mrs.  Eustace  imperturbably — “and  I know  how  to 
slang  the  people  I don’t  like.  I picked  it  up  from  the  boys.  There 
was  an  old  man  living  next  us,  with  six  boys  and  not  a woman  in  the 
house.  I learned  a great  deal  from  them.  Ask  Jo.” 

“ Who  is  Jo?”  asked  Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp,  who  was  rather 
enjoying  himself  between  the  two  Mrs.  Kenways.  He  found  Koorali 
interesting,  and  Mrs.  Eustace  decidedly  amusing. 

“ She  is  the  young  lady  I brought  with  me.  Her  name  is  Josephine. 
You\l  call  her  Miss  Garling,  though  she  is  a relation  of  }murs.  I found 
her  in  & pension.  She’s  an  orphan,  don’t  you  know.  Her  mother  was 
a Nevile-Beauchamp.  You’d  ail  like  to  suppress  her — oh  yes,  I know, 
don’t  tell  me!  You’d  like  to  suppress  me — but  you  can’t.  Admiral 
Nevile-Beauchamp — not  much!  Isn’t  there  any  way  of  shortening 
your  name  ? It’s  a name  and  a-haif  now.” 

“ You  might  call  me  Abraham.  That’s  what  I was  christened.  I 
don’t  know  that  it’s  much  better.  I don’t  want  to  suppress  you,  Mrs. 
Eustace.  On  the  contrary,  I’ll  give  you  every  opportunity  to  dart  up 
like  a Jack-in-the-box,  and  astonish  us  all.  We  are  a dull  set* 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER. 


93 

“Well — I should  think  you  were— just  a little,”  returned  Mrs. 
Eustace,  impartially  surveying  the  table,  “ some  of  you.  I expect  I 
shall  astonish  you.  My  mother  says  I astonish  every  one.  She  says 
my  manners  are  dreadful.  I tell  her  it’s  her  fault.  She  should  have 
blown  me  up.  And  she  didn’t.  Nobody  ever  did.” 

“ It  isn’t  likely  that  any  one  will  begin  to  reprimand  you  now,  Mrs. 
Eustace,”  gallantly  put  in  old  Mr.  Nevile-Beauchamp. 

“ Well,  it’s  nice  of  you  to  say  that,”  returned  Mrs.  Eustace.  “You 
were  better  up  to  time  then.  And  now  I’m  going  to  talk  to  you  a bit. 
Do  you  like  dogs?  If  you  do,  you  must  come  and  stay  with  me,  and 
I’ll  show  you  my  street  of  kennels.  I’ve  got  twenty-eight  at  the 
Priory-by-the-W  ater.” 

Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp  turned  to  Koorali. 

“ So  you’ve  met  Arden.  He’s  coming  in  to-night.  He’s  a queer 
fellow,  but  not  so  queer  as  his  father,  Lord  Forrest.  Aiden  gets  things 
on  the  brain.  He  has  temperance  and  virtue  on  the  brain  just  now. 
I knew  him  in  the  South  Seas,  when  I was  commodore  out  there. 
He  had  Pacific-lsleomania  then.  Do  you  know  what  that  is,  Mrs. 
Crichton  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  KoonUi.  “ In  Australia  my  sitting-room  was  hung  with 
tapa,  and  my  boys  had  a Kanaka  for  a nurse.” 

“ It’s  fatal  while  it  lasts,  Pacific-lsleomania.  If  you  want  any  more 
tapa , I’ll  give  you  some  to  set  a new  fashion,  or  to  wear  at  a fancy 
ball.  I found  Arden  blossomed  into  a representative  of  her  Majesty — 
what  would  that  old  Jacobite  his  father  have  said? — with  a seal  as  big 
as  this  plate,  and  power  to  make  treaties  with  native  princes,  which 
the  Government  here  at  home  was  bound  to  ratify.” 

“ Did  he  depose  any  reigning  sovereigns  or  annex  any  territory  ? ” 
asked  Koorali. 

“No;  happily  for  Lord  Derby.  He  rummaged  about  the  islands, 
trying  to  convert  the  white  reprobates  to  morality.  There’s  a white 
man  on  every  island,  Mrs.  Crichton.  I don’t  know  how  they  got  there, 
but  there  they  are — and  the  scum  of  the  earth  into  the  bargain.  First, 
the  scum  of  Lngland  goes  to  Botany  Bay.  Excuse  me,  if  I hurt  your 
feelings.  The  scum  of  Botany  Bay  goes  to  Fiji.  The  scum  of  Fiji 
goes  to  Samoa;  and  from  Samoa  floats  to  the  islands.  It’s  a long 
process.” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what’s  a long  process  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Eustace,  “ and 
that  is  dinner  on  a fast  day.  I’m  a Catholic,  Mrs.  Crichton,  and  I was 
at  a party  last  night,  and  forgot  to  eat  my  supper  before  twelve  o’clock. 

1 hopo  you’ll  give  us  some  supper  after  twelve  to-night,  Admiral.  I 
like  good  things  to  eat.” 

The  sign  was  given,  and  the  ladies  departed.  It  was  Mrs.  Nevile- 
Beauchamp’s  reception  night,  and  the  rooms  soon  began  to  fill,  so  that 
Koorali  and  Zenobia  were  not  long  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
women  of  the  family.  Though  the  party  was  supposed  to  be  small  and 
early,  it  was  in  reality  very  crowded,  and  Koorali  was  allowed  to  sit 
comparatively  unnoticed.  This  would  have  annoyed  Ciichton,  had  he 


94 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE* 


been  aware  of  it,  but  lie  did  not  at  first  perceive  her,  and  was  studying 

the  company  on  his  own  account. 

Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp’s  parties  were  amusing,  and  if  her  celebrities 
were  for  the  most  part  of  the  second  and  third  rate  order,  some  of  them 
at  all  events  were  in  the  theatrical  and  artistic  set.  Politicians  and 
diplomatists  did  not  c'>me  to  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp’s  house,  nor  was 
it  the  resort  of  the  frivolous  “ smart  ” set.  The  court  flavour  was 
distinctly  wanting.  Some  actors  and  actresses,  however,  wTho  were  in 
society,  might  be  found  there;  some  poets  and  painters  of  the  Bossetti 
school ; composers  and  drawing-room  singers  and  reciters,  who  gave 
their  performances  gratis,  and  were  not  herded  like  goats  among  sheep, 
but  chattered  in  broken  French  and  Italian,  and  gave  a sort  of  life  to 
the  entertainment.  Crichton  Kenway,  not  yet  very  well  versed  in  the 
intricacies  of  London  society,  wandered  about  making  observations. 
Comparing  this  assemblage  with  that  at  Lady  Betty  Morse’s  house,  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  though  it  was  his  fixed  intention  to  shine 
in  the  highest  sphere,  this  one  was  on  the  whole  more  enjoyable,  and 
not  to  be  despised,  seeing  that  it  offered  facilities  for  gaining  the  ear  of 
society  journalists,  for  securing  admission  to  studios  and  private  views, 
and  perhaps  getting  a glimpse  at  an  artist’s  pretty  model  now  and 
then  ; perhaps  receiving  an  invitation  for  Koorali  to  sit  for  her  portrait 
to  a Ptoyal  Academician.  He  had  learned  that  there  was  one  present. 

Miss  Jo  had  communicated  the  fact.  He  found  that,  in  spite  of  her 
demure  look  and  recent  residence  in  a foreign  pension , to  say  nothing  of 
her  being  one  of  the  family,  she  was  a very  well-informed  young  lady 
as  to  the  ins  and  outs  of  London  life.  She  knew  who  every  one  was, 
and  commented  upon  each  in  a quiet  little  voice. 

“They  are  nearly  all  Bohemians  here,”  she  said;  but  they  are  all 
awfully  proper  Bohemians.  They  are  very  particular.  Some  of  them 
get  married  twice  over,  to  make  sure.  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp  wouldn’t 
have  any  that  weren’t  strictly  proper.  I think  some  of  the  improper 
ones  are  more  interesting,  don’t  you?” 

Ken  way  assented  with  a man-of-the-world  air ; but  he  thought  to 
himself  that  he  would  set  Lady  Canteloupe  on  Jo,  for  she  was  hardly  a 
credit  to  the  family. 

“Like  the  people  in  ‘Claire,’”  continued  the  young  lady,  naming  a 
novel  which  was  not  considered  food  for  babes  and  sucklings.  “ There’s 
the  man  who  wrote  ‘ Claire.’  He’s  like  his  books,  there’s  a bad  taste 
about  him,  but  I think  he’s  perfectly  splendid.  He’s  mashed  on  Mrs. 
Melville,  the  actress — who  makes  you  laugh  so  in  ‘ Barefaced  ’ — don’t 
you  know  ? She  doesn’t  make  you  laugh  much  off  the  stage  ; she  is 
rather  stupid.  A great  many  of  them  are.  Now  we  must  stop,  I 
suppose,  because  Gallup  is  going  to  fool  for  a bit.” 

When  Mr.  Gallup,  the  comic  singer,  had  “ fooled  for  a bit,”  as  Miss 
Jo  and  her  patroness  Zen  expressed  it,  another  comedian  stood  up,  and, 
after  making  a few  faces,  made  a speech. 

“ Ladies  arid  gentlemen,”  he  said,  “ I am  accustomed  to  sing  on  the 
stage,  and  retreat  by  the  wings  to  this  sort  of  sound,”  and  he  feebly 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER. 


95 

clapped  his  hands.  “I  don’t  see  any  wings,  and  I don’t  hear  any 
clapping,  so  I shall  sit  down  again.” 

Every  one  applauded  this  as  being  extremely  witty. 

Afterwards,  an  aesthetic  young  lady,  in  a red  gown  with  a sacque, 
played  the  zither.  People  began  to  move  about  more;  and  Crichton 
lost  Miss  Jo.  flhcre  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but.  listen  to  the  scraps 
of  conversation,  which  were  principally  of  the  artistic  shop  kind. 
Crichton  felt  rather  out  of  it,  but  decided  that  he  was  quite  superior  to 
this  kind  of  company. 

He  heard  a wild-looking  lady  remarking  plaintively,  “ Oh,  I’m  never 
at  home  on  Saturday  afternoons,  I’m  always  hunting  after  engagements 
at  matinees.” 

A little  further  on,  a young  man  who  looked  hardly  equal  to  the 
exertion  of  carrying  his  opera  hat,  was  delivering  himself  of  the 
statements,  “ Well,  Zola  is  out  of  fashion  now;  he  is  quite  Philistine 
and  behind  the  time.  Our  school  is  infinitely  more  realistic  than  Zola. 
We  would  show  life  as  it  is,  if  only  we  could  get  our  works  published.” 
While  another  young  man  remarked  mournfully,  “ Publishers  want 
suppressing.” 

“ And  managers,”  put  in  a third  gentleman,  whom  Crichton  inferred 
to  be  a writer  of  plays. 

Mrs.  Eustace  meanwhile  had  sought  her  sister-in-law,  to  whom  she 
had  in  her  impulsive  way  taken  a fancy. 

“I  mean  to  come  and  have  lunch  with  you  one  day,”  she  said  abruptly. 

“ I shall  be  very  glad,”  answered  Koorali  shyly.  “ What  day  will 
you  come  V ” She  took  courage,  and  spoke  more  eagerly. 

“ I wonder  if  you’ll  tumble  to  me,”  continued  Mrs.  Eustace  reflec- 
tively. There  was  something  wilful  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  into 
Koorali’s  face.  She  began  drawing  on  one  of  her  long  French  gloves. 
“ Oh,  I hate  putting  my  fat  pads  into  coverings  ! ’*  she  exclaimed  inter- 
jectionally.  “I  don’t  expect  you’ll  like  me;  Eustace’s  people  don't. 
Eustace  thinks  I have  very  bad  manners,  only  he  is  too  polite  to  say 
so.  Is  your  husband  polite?  ” 

“ I suppose  so,”  faltered  KoorMi,  startled  by  the  abruptness  of  the 
question. 

“ I never  saw  him  before  to-night,  you  know.  I don’t  know  whether 
I want  to  see  him  again  to-morrow.  I want  to  see  you  though.  He 
has  an  appointment,  hasn’t  he  ? ” 

“ He  is  Agent-General  for  South  Britain,”  replied  Koorali. 

“ It  takes  a lot  of  cleverness  to  get  an  appointment  like  that,  don’t 
it  ? He  looks  as  if  he  knew  that.  I say ! — he  doesn’t  want  to  let  one 
know  that  he  thinks  no  end  of  himself,  but  he  does,  all  the  same.  He’s 
got  his  eye  on  us  now.  1 should  just  say  he  was  weighing  us  in  a pair 
of  scales,  shouldn’t  you  ? You’ve  got  the  b-beauty,  you  know,  and  the 
— the  rest  of  it — manners,  and  all  that — and  I’ve  got  the  shekels.” 

“Oh!  ” exclaimed  Koorali,  drawn  from  her  reserve  by  this  childlike 
frankness,  “ I wish  it  were  so.  I don’t  always  know  what  to  say.  Pm 
so  shy.  It’s  all  strange.  I don’t  know  what  is  expected  of  one.” 


96 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


“Well,  I dare  say  that'll  wear  off,’  observed  Mrs.  Eustace,  com- 
placently unfurling  her  fan.  “My  mother  thinks  Fm  horrid,”  she 
pursued;  “but  I don’t  much  mind  that,  for  she  is  horrid  herself.” 

“ Your  mother  I ” repeated  Koorali,  in  wonder. 

“ She  is  not  my  real  mother,  she  is  my  stepmother.  I don’t  mind 
telling  you  that  she  is  awfully  bad  form,  very  v-vulgar.  Lord  bless 
you,  even  / can  see  that.  She  always  let  me  do  any  blessed  thing  I 
pleased,  and  have,  just  whatever  I howled  for,  and  that  was  the  only 
good  thing  about  her.  Not  that  it  was  so  very  good  either.  My  jolly 
old  guardians  said  she  had  a beastly  bad  effect  upon  me.  My  guardians 
wanted  to  get  me  away  from  her.  My  guardians  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
the  responsibility,  and  so  they  bothered  me  into  marrying.  I didn’t 
want  to  marry.  I wanted  to  have  some  fun  out  of  life  first.  I think 
its  awfully  slow  to  be  married.” 

“ My  dear  Mrs.  Eustace,  what  terrible  sentiments  for  a bride,”  said 
Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp,  perching  herself  gracefully  upon  an  early- 
English  settee  beside  the  sistei  s-in-law.  “You  must  forgive  me  for 
admiring  the  embroidery  on  your  dress.  It  is  quite  magnificent.” 

“Yes,  I like  it.  I think  it’s  pretty  smart,”  said  the  bride,  in  her  odd 
blunt  way,  stroking  the  gorgeous  wreaths  with  a most  simple  satisfac- 
tion. “ A Frenchman  designed  it  for  me.  He  died  just  afterwards.  I 
sent  him  a wreath  tor  his  coffin.” 

Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp  moved  off  to  receive  some  entering  guests. 
“ I don’t  like  Kitty — much,”  announced  Mrs.  Eustace.  “ She  asked 
me  to  call  her  Kitty.  May  I call  you  by  your  name?  It’s  a funny 
one,  ain’t  it  ? ” 

“ Ivoorali.” 

“Koorali!”  she  repeated.  “And  mine’s  Zenobia.  I don’t  know 
why  they  gave  it  me.  What  does  it  mean  ? It’s  too  showy  for  my 
style,  ain’t  it?  But  most  people  call  me  Zen.  It’s  shorter.” 

“ 1 t in  sure  that  we  shall  be  good  friends,  Zen,”  said  KoorMi. 

“ Well,  anyhow,  we  can  stand  up  together  against  the  old  bounders 
— I mean  the  family,”  said  Zen,  with  an  odd  little  twist  of  her  head 
that  set  all  her  diamonds  twinkling.  “ But  you  don’t  know  anything 
about  me  yet.” 

“Yes,  i do,”  replied  Koorali.  “Lord  Arden  told  me  something 
about  you;  and  he  said  that  1 should  like  you  very  much.” 

Zenobia  let  her  fan  fall,  and  turned  her  eves  full  upon  Koorali. 

“ Tell  me  exactly  what  he  said,”  she  commanded. 

“ He  said  that  you  were  frank  and  unaffected,  and  that  you  had  not 
been  spoiled.” 

“ He’d  better  not  ask  the  jolly  old  guardians,  or  Eustace.  Anything 
else?” 

“ No — at  least,  nothing  very  particular.” 

“Come,  there  was!  There  was  something  else.  Tell  it  me — 
quick.” 

Koorali  smiled,  and  said  reluctantly,  “ Only  that  you  had  scraped 
the  Priory.” 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER. 


97 


Mrs.  Eustace  stared. 

“Well;  it  wanted  cleaning.  I don’t  like  to  see  a hou~e  covered 
wi'h  green  mould,  and  grass  growing  on  the  tops  of  the  wails.  Clean, 
clean  ; T want  every  thing  clean,  don’t  you  know.  And  perhaps  you’ll 
not  mind  my  being  imperious.  Eustace  says  I’m  imperious  ; — it’s  his 
word.  I don’t  see  how  1 could  help  it.  Of  course  I mean  to  have  my 
own  way.  What’s  the  good  of  living  at  all  if  one  don’t  get  one’s  own 
way  ? ” 

There  flashed  through  Koorali’s  mind  something  Morse  had  said  to 
her.  She  remembered  when  she  had  been  young,  like  Zen,  and  had 
expected  to  have  everything  her  own  way.  She  met  suddenly  Zen’s 
wistful  glance,  which  was  somehow  in  contradiction  with  all  the  rest  of 
her.  In  spite  of  her  off-hand  manner,  Zen  had  a watchful  observant 
look,  as  though  she  were  feeling  her  way. 

“I  wish  you’d  tell  me  what  you  are  thinking,”  she  said;  and  went 
on  without  waiting  for  a reply.  “ I always  like  to  turn  people  inside 
out.  When  I’m  talking  fastest,  I am  always  thinking  most.”  Zenobia’s 
eyes  were  at  that  moment  fixed  upon  the  door.  Lord  Arden  had 
entered,  and  was  shaking  hands  with  his  hostess.  “ Mrs.  Nevile- 
Beauchamp  is  a c-cat,”  continued  Zenobia.  “ She  wants  to  manage 
me.  I’d  like  to  see  her  do  it ! I don’t  go  in  for  being  managed.  She 
is  very  clever.  She  is  so  clever  that  one  is  obliged  to  notice  it.  The 
cleverest  people  are  the  ones  who  make  you  believe  they  are  stupid. 
Ain’t  that  so,  Lord  Arden?”  she  added  abruptly,  addressing  Lord 
Arden,  who  had  at  once  made  his  way  to  them. 

Zenobia  held  out  her  hand,  her  face  beaming.  It  was  evident  that 
she  was  glad  to  see  him. 

Lord  Arden  talked  to  Zenobia  for  a few  minutes,  and  then  some 
chance  tarn  in  the  conversation  drew  Koorali  into  it.  Something 
or  other  brought  up  the  subject  of  colonial  populations  and  subject 
races,  whereon  Lord  Arden  was  strong,  being  filled  with  the  principles 
of  the  Aborigines’  Protection  Society  and  Mr.  F.  W.  Chesson.  Lord 
Arden  began  givimr  out  his  vie  vs  in  a deprecatory  sort  of  way;  and 
only  lx  cause  Koorali  asked  for  them.  He  expect  d probably  to  find 
in  Mrs.  Kenway,  the  daughter  of  a colonial  prime  minister,  a shrill 
feminine  representative  of  the  views  of  the  old-fashioned  colonist,  who 
held  that  the  soil  of  the  colonies  was  given  to  him  by  providential 
decree  to  hold  for  him  and  his  heirs  for  ever,  and  that  the  aborigines 
were  put  into  his  hands  by  divine  design,  in  order  that  through  his 
energetic  agency  they  might  be  improved  off  the  face  of  all  creation 
when  they  had  ceased  to  be  of  any  further  use  to  him.  Lord  Arden 
was  much  surprised  to  find  that  Koorali  went  far  indeed  with  his 
ideas,  and  was  full  of  sympathy  with  the  natives  and  of  anger  against 
the  utter  selfishness  of  some  of  the  colonists.  From  one  topic  they 
passed  on  to  another,  until  Koorali  found  herself  talking  with  eager- 
ness, animation,  and  even  volubility.  The  young  philanthropist  was 
fairly  charmed  with  her;  and  before  half  an  hour  it  came  to  this,  that 
Lord  Arden  was  gravely  consulting  Kooraii  on  some  question  con- 


93 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .’ 


nected  with  the  South  Sea  Islands;  was  eagerly  interposing,  “hut 
then,  Mrs.  Kenway,  is  it  your  opinion?”  or  “what  I was  particularly 
anxious  to  have  your  ideas  about,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  was  this;”  until 
Zenobia’s  breath  was  fairly  taken  away. 

“ My  goodness,”  she  said  at  last,  when  a pause  came  in  the  conver- 
sation— a pause  which  she  knew  would  most  certainly  be  filled  up  at 
once  if  she  did  not  strike  in — “ you  are  a pair  to  talk  ! Why,  Koorali, 
you  do  take  me  off  my  feet.  To  think  of  your  knowing  all  about  these 
things,  and  being  so  clever ! Who  would  have  thought  it  of  a dedcate 
little  shrinking  thing  like  you?  Why,  I didn’t  suppose  you  could  say 
boh  to  a goose!  ” 

“ You  were  wrong,  you  see ; she  can  say  boh  to  me,”  Lord  Arden 
said,  with  a smile.  “ She  has  s dd  boh  to  some  of  my  choicest  theories 
very  effectively,  I can  assure  you.” 

“Has  she  really?  ” Zenobia  asked  innocently.  “Well,  my  dear,  it 
strikes  me  that,  though  there  are  only  two  of  us,  the  family  won’t  get 
much  change  out  of  us  two.  I say,  shan’t  we  just  give  them  fits,  you 
and  me?  I suppose  it’s  ‘you  and  I,’  Lord  Arden  ain’t  it?  But  I never 
could  quite  make  out,  and  it  sounds  funny,  don’t  it — that  ‘ I ’ standing 
all  alone  at  the  end  of  a sentence?” 

“ Like  the  criminal  in  the  dock,”  Arden  said  gravely,  “ when  the 
judge  has  finished  the  words  of  doom.” 

“ Yes;  that’s  it,  now,”  Zenobia  said  simply.  But  to  think  of  you 
two  taking  so  much  interest  in  the  ai'fairsof  other  folks,  and  foreigners, 
and  niggers,  and  all  that  lot!  Why,  I was  never  taught  to  take  the 
least  little  bit  of  interest  in  any  mortal  thing  but  my  own  concerns. 
Yes;  I have  been  jolly  badly  brought  up,”  Zenobia  went  on  reflec- 
tively,  looking  straight  before  her  with  the  wistful  yet  alert  expression 
in  her  brown  eyes;  “that  gets  more  and  more  clear  to  me  as  I go  on 
and  meet  people.  Kooiali,  my  dear  thing,  won’t  you  teach  me  to 
think  about  niggers  and  people  as  well  as  myself?  Lord  Arden,  will 
you — like  ever  such  a good  chap,  I wish  you  would — show  me  how  I 
am  to  think  about  my  fellow-man  sometimes  ? After  I have  done  up 
the  Priory,”  she  added.  “I  haven’t  time  just  now.  It  takes  a lot  of 
thinking  when  you’re  lining  your  rooms  with  plush;  and  you  want  it 
dyed  to  suit  your  complexion.” 

“I  hope  you  will  think  about  me  sometimes,  as  one  fellow-man, 55 
Lord  Arden  said  gallantly. 

“ Oh,  that  I shall ! ” Zenobia  replied,  with  a certain  innocent  fervour 
in  her  tone.  It  was  beginning  to  be  faintly  borne  in  upon  her  that 
there  were  other  objects  of  interest  to  human  beings  in  this  world  than 
gowns  embroidered  with  humming-birds,  and  the  furniture  and  trap- 
pings of  a rich  woman’s  house. 

Just  then  Admiral  Nevile-Beauchamp  brought  up  a Grosvenor 
Gallery  painter,  aod  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Eustace  Ken  way — to 
the  annoyance  of  Crichton,  who  had  been  watching  the  little  group. 
Zenobia  accepted  the  painter’s  arm  and  his  invitation  to  go  downstairs. 
He  being  of  the  Burne  Jones  school,  cast  a startled  glance  at  her 


THE  FAMILY  DINNER . 


99 

gorgeous  draperies  as  she  rose,  but  Zen  straightened  her  feather- 
trimmed  train  with  childlike  satisfaction. 

“ Mrs.  Kenway,”  said  Lord  Arden,  “ won’t  you  come  and  have  some 
tea  or  something  ? ” 

Kooiali  rose.  There  was  a little  block  just  in  front  of  them.  A 
young  actress,  to  whom  Crichton  had  a moment  before  been  intro- 
duced, was  making  play  with  her  large  bistre-shaded  eyes,  and  trying 
to  keep  two  or  three  admirers  in  tow  at  once.  Koorali  watched  her 
with  a wondering  look,  and  Lord  Arden  w itched  Koorali.  The  actress 
was  very  pretty  and  taking,  after  her  type,  but  it  was  a type  which 
bewildered  Koorali  a little.  She  had  gold-powdered  hair  meeting  her 
brows,  with  big  black  eyes,  and  a melodramatic  manner  which  she,  was 
exercising  now  on  Crichton. 

“Mr.  Kenway,  here  is  Signor  Charqui  tragically  imploring  me  to 
take  him  down,  because  he  has  to  go  home  and  write  an  opera,  and  his 
doctor  says  he  will  die  unless  he  has  plenty  of  stimulants.  And  here 
is  Mr.  Foxwell  declaring  that  he  also  is  dying  to  get  me  some  jelly, 
and  that  the  completion  of  his  Academy  picture  is  in  question.  What 
am  l to  do?  Mr.  Foxwell  expiring  for  me,  and  Signor  Charqui  for 
want  of  stimulants ! I must  leave  them  to  die  together,”  and  she  put 
her  hand  within  Crichton’s  arm. 

Lord  Arden  and  Koorali  moved  on. 

“It  is  a little  perplexing  for  you,”  said  he,  with  a laugh,  “to  see 
people  you  only  know'  across  the  footlights  dressed  like  the  rest  of  the 
world.” 

“ I suppose  they  are  like  the  rest  of  the  world,”  said  Koorali. 

“ Anyhow,  they  mean  you  to  think  so,”  he  replied.  “ When  you 
are  introduced  to  the  fair  Miss  Mauleverer,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  you  must 
avoid  anything  remotely  professional.  You  must  ask  her  if  she  was 
in  the  Park  this  morning,  and  if  she  went  to  Lady  So-and-So’s  party 
last  night,  though  you  know  that  according  to  physical  laws  she  must 
have  been  at  the  Burlington  Theatre.” 

As  they  came  out  of  the  supper-room,  Ken  way  made  his  way  to  his 
wife.  He  had  given  Miss  Mauleverer  up  to  Mr.  Gallup,  the  comedian, 
and  those  two,  with  the  lady  who  hunted  at  matinees  and  the  young 
man  who  was  more  realistic  than  Zola,  formed  a little  knot  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs. 

“The  social  status  of  the  actor,”  Mr.  Gallup  was  saying — “the 
social  status  of  the  actor  may  be  summed  up  in  one  word — Houp  ! ” 
and  he  executed  an  acrobatic  bound  and  a series  of  funny  grimaces. 

“ Come  along,”  said  Ken  way,  touching  Koorali — she  had  got  sepjv 
rated  for  a moment  from  Ar  ten — “ we  will  get  away  from  all  this 
infernal  rot.”  Then,  seeing  Lord  Arden,  he  made  an  elaborate  little 
speech  about  his  wife’s  delicate  health  and  the  bore  of  having  to  go 
to  two  or  three  places  in  an  evening. 

“Good  night,”  said  Arden.  “I  shall  see  you  soon  again,  Mrs. 
Ken  way,  at  Lady  Betty  Morse’s.  She  has  promised  to  ask  me  to 
meet  you  at  another  Sunday  dinner.” 


ICO 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


Ken  way  was  pleased  that  the  bystanders  should  know  that  he 
dined  at  the  Morses'.  He  hade  Arden  good  night  with  cordiality. 

“That  man  is  a cad,”  thought  Arden  to  himself,  as  they  moved  cff; 
“ and  1 shouldn’t  think  she  liked  it,  poor  little  thing  1 ” 


CHAPTEK  XII. 

THE  “LANGUOROUS  TROPIC  FLOWER.” 

Crichton  Kenway  had  passed  through  three  several  stages  of  feeling 
with  regard  to  his  wife’s  position  in  London  society.  When  they 
were  on  the  way  to  England,  and  for  the  first  few  daj^s  of  their  stay, 
he  felt  convinced  that  he  was  the  happy  possessor  of  a wife  who  was 
destined  to  become  a star  of  the  London  season  and  of  many  seasons. 
Alter  the  party  at  Lady  Betty’s,  which  was  really  their  first  appearance 
in  what  could  be  called  society,  he  fell  into  a condition  of  profound 
disappointment.  He  was  convinced  that  Koorali  was  a dead  failure,  a 
hopeless  failure ; and  he  was  wroth  with  her  and  almost  hated  her. 
She  became  transfigured  in  his  eyes.  Her  very  face,  her  very  figure, 
did  not  seem  the  same  to  him.  Up  to  that  time,  in  his  Sultan-like 
fashion,  he  had  been  delighted  to  feast  his  eyes  On  the  beauty  of  her 
face  and  her  form.  Even  when  she  annoyed  him,  he  regarded  her 
much  in  the  light  of  a horse,  a dog,  a picture,  some  chattel  which 
belonged  to  him,  and  might  be  either  scolded,  admired,  or  simply 
ignored  as  the  mood  took  him.  After  that  he  began  to  wonder  where 
he  could  have  seen  charm  of  feature,  or  figure,  or  movement  in  her. 
She  was  so  shy,  he  thought;  she  looked  so  awkward  ; she  did  not  dress 
well;  she  did  not  we;>r  her  clothes  well;  smart  dresses  would  not  seem 
smart  if  put  on  by  her.  Then  came  the  third  stage.  Kenway  did  not 
quite  understand  soiety  in  London;  Lady  Betty  did.  Lady  Betty  had 
said  that  Koorali  would  be  a great  success,  and  Lady  Betty  was  light ; 
for  she  knew  her  world  and  her  people.  She  knew  that  the  very 
novelty  of  Koorali’s  shy  ways,  her  little  bursts  of  a sort  of  intellectual 
aggressiveness,  which  was  only  shyness  taking  another  form,  her  half- 
dreamy  poetic  sympathies  and  fancies,  which  Lady  Betty  perceived 
from  the  outside  though  she  did  not  understand  them,  her  originality, 
her  utter  lack  of  affectation — Lady  Betty  had  seen  at  once  that 
peculiarities  such  as  these,  when  combined  with  a graceful  figure  and 
a singularly  pretty  and  picturesque  face,  would  tell  on  London  society. 
And  in  truth,  they  did  tell.  Before  Koorali  had  been  many  weeks 
going  about  in  society,  there  were  found  pretty  languishing  girls  who 
tried  to  walk,  and  stand,  and  lean,  and  use  their  eyes,  and  move  their 
hands  after  what  they  conceived  to  be  the  pattern  of  the  young 
Australian  married  woman  that  all  the  world  was  talking  of.  This 
was  Kenway ’s  third  experience.  He  was  not  yet  over  his  anger  and 
disappointment  at  her  social  failure,  when  he  had  to  change  his  ideas 
all  round  once  more,  and  to  wonder  and  delight  over  her  social  success. 


THE  “ LANGUOROUS  TROPIC  FLOWER.'  ioi 

Yeo;  there  was  no  mistake  about  it.  The  renlity  could  not  be  ignored 
merely  because  it  was  a pleasant  and  unexpected  reality ; he  was  tho 
lawful  owner  of  the  successful  beauty  of  the  London  season. 

Kenway  was  especially  interested  in  observing  the  manner  in  which 
Sandham  Morse  took  to  Koorali.  He  was  pleased  to  see  how  much 
Morse  evidently  liked  her.  Crichton  Ken  way  was  not  a martyr  to  fits 
of  jealousy.  He  had  a placid  faith  in  his  wife.  He  did  not  believe 
she  had  one  drop  of  passionate  emotion  in  her ; he  felt  sure  that  no 
temptation  in  the  world  could  induce  her  to  do  wrong.  He  did  not 
particularly  admire  her  for  this ; she  wanted  blood,  he  thought.  She 
had  not  “ go  ” enough  in  her  to  care  for  love-making  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  In  some  ways  it  was  very  lucky  for  him  that  she  was  cast  in 
such  a mould  ; at  any  rate,  it  relieved  him  from  all  apprehension.  He 
could  trust  her  where  other  men  could  not  trust  their  wives;  that  is 
to  say,  he  could  make  use  of  her  where  other  men  could  not  make  use 
of  their  wives. 

It  was  clear  to  him  that  Morse  was  the  rising  man  in  English 
politics;  and  he  meant  to  rise  with  Morse.  It  was  clear  to  him  that 
a time  was  coming,  was  close  at  hand,  would  come  alter  the  next 
general  election,  when  the  democratic  party  must  get  a chauce ; and 
with  that  time  would  come  Morse,  as  Prime  Minister,  or,  at  the  very 
least,  as  leader  of  the  House  of  Commons,  with  some  noble  figure-head 
in  the  House  of  Lords  to  be  set  up  for  the  nominal  part  of  Premier. 
Then  Kenway  wanted  to  get  some  permanent  appointment.  His 
recent  London  experiences  made  him  now  rather  scorn  the  colonial 
governorship  which  had  at  first  been  the  object  of  his  desires.  He  had 
not  the  means  to  go  into  Parliament,  although  he  had  some  ambition 
of  that  kind.  He  wanted  a secure  place,  with  so  many  thousands  a 
year,  and  the  admission  into  good  society.  He  wanted  to  be  certain 
of  a handsome  income ; to  live  well ; to  have  no  more  debts ; to  dine 
out  every  evening  in  the  season  at  good  houses ; to  make  a round  of 
visits  at  castles  and  country  seats  during  the  recess;  to  know  every 
one  in  society ; to  be  consulted  by  every  one ; to  be  in  the  thick  of 
everything,  and  to  snub  the  Family  and  make  them  wild  with  envy. 
Now,  all  this  could  be  assured  to  him  by  a permanent  appointment  in 
the  Colonial  Office,  and  this  he  intended  that  Morse  should  get  for 
him.  He  began  to  think  that  Koorali  might  be  of  inestimable  service 
to  him,  provided  she  did  not  indignantly  revolt  at  this  sort  of  intrigue ; 
and  he  therefore  saw  with  peculiar  gratification  that  Morse  seemed  to 
like  her  more  and  more  every  day.  Kenway  never  could  talk  to  her 
much  now;  they  had  hardly  anything  in  common.  When  she  and 
Morse  sat  together  they  seemed  never  to  want  for  subjects  of  conver- 
sation. Secretly,  this  incensed  him,  and  at  times  lie  almost  hated 
Morse — not  from  jealousy,  but  from  a sense  of  inferiority.  Then  he 
reflected  that  even  a statesman,  when  he  wishes  to  gain  the  favour  of 
a pretty  woman,  must  unbend  and  make  her  believe  she  is  his  intel- 
lectual equal.  A husband's  position  naturally  releases  him  from  the 
necessity  for  such  affectations. 


102 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


He  was,  of  course,  far  too  clever  and  too  knowing  to  consent  to 
figure  in  society  merely  as  “beauty’s  husband.”  Such  a position 
accepted  by  him  would  not  serve  his  purpose  at  all.  He  meant  to 
make  a distinct  mark  upon  society  for  himself ; and  he  succeeded.  He 
could  do  a great  many  things  remarkably  well,  and  he  had  the  art  of 
making  the  most  of  his  accomplishments.  He  rode  splendidly;  he 
knew  that  when  the  autumn  came  on  he  would  be  able  to  show  himself 
a good  shot ; he  was  almost  a brilliant  talker ; he  knew  many  countries 
well,  and  had  a courier-life  gift  of  polyglot  conversation.  He  could 
give  advice  on  almost  any  subject;  and  there  was  no  question  on 
which  he  could  not  come  to  a decision  in  a moment.  Nothing  im- 
presses the  majority  of  men  more  than  the  capacity  to  give  a judgment 
on  the  instant.  Solomon  himself,  if  he  asked  for  time  to  consider  a 
point,  would  not  be  half  so  impressive,  so  necessary  to  his  friend,  so 
comforting  to  mankind  in  general,  as  some  one  who  gave  a wrong 
opinion,  but  gave  it  at  once,  and  with  an  air  of  decision.  What  if  the 
opinion  be  wrong?  Nobody  cares  after  the  thing  is  over;  unless, 
perhaps,  the  one  man  who  has  acted  upon  the  opinion,  and  he  does  not 
always  remember  whether  he  did  act  upon  it  or  on  some  judgment  or 
impulse  of  his  own.  The  rest  of  the  world  forget  all  about  the  matter, 
and  only  remember  that  Crichton  Ken  way,  by  Jove,  sir,  is  a man  who 
can  tell  you  off-hand  exactly  what  you  ought  to  do  under  any  given  cir- 
cumstances, by  Jove!  An  uncommonly  clever  fellow,  everybody  said. 

Yes ; Koorali  was  a social  success.  She  came  upon  London  society 
towards  the  close  of  a season  when  there  was  a sort  of  reaction 
against  the  professional  beauty,  and  people  had  raved  themselves  into 
weariness  over  the  favourite  actress.  Koorali’s  shrinking  wild-flower 
looks  and  ways — or  what  Lady  Betty  called  her  wild-falcon  ways — 
had  a sudden  attraction  lor  all  who  just  then  were  yearning  for  novelty. 
Lady  Betty  had  fallen  straightway  in  love  with  her  eyes,  her  figure, 
her  style  generally ; and  she  had  set  various  other  great  ladies  also  in 
admiration  of  them.  A royal  prince  begged  to  be  enabled  to  make 
acquaintance  with  the  Australian  visitor ; and  highly  commended,  not 
only  her  appearance,  but  her  manners  and  her  odd,  pretty  name.  And 
then,  Kooiali’s  very  mode  of  dressing,  so  unlike  that  of  regulated  and 
conventional  social  life,  had  its  charm  also. 

She  first  made  a sensation  at  Mr.  Whistler’s  “ ten  o’clock.”  Lady 
Betty  shepherded  her  assiduously,  and  took  care  that  just  the  right 
word  should  be  said  about  her  to  just  the  right  people.  It  wras  one  of 
Lady  Betty’s  little  whims  to  take  up  occasionally  and  make  the  reputa- 
tion of  some  pretty,  witty,  or  charming  woman.  She  did  not  care  for 
beauties  who  “ ran  ” as  such,  and  on  patriotic  grounds  she  disapproved 
of  the  craze  for  American  loveliness.  She  had  thought  for  some  time 
that  the  colonials  should  have  a chance,  and  had  tiied  a little  while 
ago  to  start  the  daughter  oi  that  great  shearer  of  sheep,  Sir  Vesey 
Plympton,  and  the  wife  of  a possessor  of  many  gold  claims,  who,  how- 
ever, had  been  a dead  failure.  Lady  Betty  had  submitted  to  a little 
good-natured  chaff  on  the  subject  of  her  “ Australian  with  the  nuggets,” 


THE  11  LANGUOROUS  TROPIC  FLOWER."  103 

who  smelt  of  Ballarat,  and  whose  startling  Worth  toilettes  had  occa- 
sioned as  much  talk  as  Mrs.  Langtry’s  famous  costumes  at  the  Prince’s 
Theatre.  Now,  Lady  Betty  was  pleased  to  make  it  evident  that  an 
Australian  woman  could  be  charming  and  original  without  over- 
dressing, under-dressing,  talking  strange  Antipodean  slang,  and  aggres- 
sively suggesting  nuggets.  She  laid  some  stress  upon  the  fact  of 
Crichton  Ken  way’s  modest  circumstances,  while  at  the  same  time  she 
alluded  vaguely  to  his  political  prestige  and  his  views  upon  the 
“annexation  of  New  Guinea,  and  Lord  Derby  and  federation — a sort 
of  model  for  the  Irish  nationalists,  don’t  you  know.”  Lady  Betty,  in 
her  pretty  inconsequent  way,  addressed  a champion  of  Home  Rule, 
who  was  too  distinctly  and  nationally  humorous  to  be  excluded  from  a 
circle  which  craves  amusement,  “With  our  dear  princess’s  husband  at 
the  Castle ; as  he  is  a German  there  could  not  be  any  ill  feeling.” 
Lady  Betty  was  quite  taken  with  the  idea,  and  presented  the  Home 
Ruler  to  Koorali  forthwith.  It  is  not  quite  certain,  however,  whether 
Crichton  Ken  way  would  have  relished  her  description  of  him,  could  he 
at  the  Universe  Club  have  heard  it  given.  Lady  Betty  caught  the 
attention  of  the  art  clique  first,  as  in  duty  bound  to  her  entertainer; 
and  after  Mr.  Whistler’s  lecture,  of  which  in  truth  our  young  bar- 
barian understood  but  little,  Koorali  found  herself  the  centre  of  a group 
of  striking  and  Mephisfophelian  figures,  and  in  the  novel  position  of 
a kind  of  lightning-conductor  diverting  the  shaits  of  the  leaders  of 
rival  schools,  of  which  one  might  be  said  to  find  “Le  beau  dans 
rhorrible,”  and  of  the  other  “L’horrible  dans  le  beau.”  Koorali  felt 
the  whole  thing  a little  bewildering.  It  was  a very  curious  and  repre- 
sentative gathering — rank,  fashion,  politics,  art,  literature,  medicinej 
and  the  stage,  hobnobbing  joyfully.  The  house  at  which  the  party 
took  place  had  got  the  name  of  Noah’s  Ark,  from  the  variety  of  species 
which  were  wont  to  congregate  in  it.  No  fitter  scene  could  have  been 
chosen  lor  Koorali’s  first  success. 

Lady  Betty  was  interested  on  her  own  account  as  well.  She  realized 
her  ambition  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Doctor  Maria  Lakes  web 
Tubbs,  and  Koorali  was  included  in  the  arrangement  which  ensured 
the  dangling  of  the  skeleton  before  a select  feminine  company  in  Pari 
Lane.  Lady  Betty  began  to  meditate  a physiological  crusade,  and  t-hc 
t nlightenment  of  her  own  sex  upon  the  dangers  attending  tight  lacing 
She  did  not  allow  the  artists  and  the  Home  Ruler,  however,  tf 
monopolize  her  charge  too  long.  Lady  Betty  knew  how  to  manage 
things.  A ducht  ss,  whose  eldest  son  was  talked  of  as  the  coming 
governor  of  a great  Australian  colony,  was  sweetly  propitiated.  Othei 
great  ladies  were  taken  in  hand  in  turn.  Then  an  elderly  peer,  whe 
was  also  a poet,  a storv-teller,  and  an  admirer  of  beauty,  asked  for  an 
introduction  to  Koorali.  He  told  her  his  latest  good  thing,  laughing 
a fat  chuckle  at  his  own  wit.  He  asked  her  three  times  where  she 
lived,  and  the  next  day  sent  a card  for  an  “at  home.”  After  him 
came  another  literary  man,  an  aged  masher,  with  tiny  shrivelled  form, 
thin  silvery  hair,  trembling  hands  and  bleared  blue  eyes — but  a power 


io4 


'*  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


in  his  sphere,  a critic  whose  verdict  made  or  marred  a book  or  a beauty. 
He  was  a living  volume  of  scandalous  chronicle,  dating  back  to  Byron 
in  his  prime ; descending  from  the  Guiccioli  to  luxuriant  matrons 
preseut,  at  whom  he  glanced,  shaking  with  impish  merriment.  “ They 
are  so  proper  now,”  he  murmured,  “ with  their  daughters  beside  them  1 
But  the  tales  I could  tell ! ” 

And  the  tales  he  did  tell ! Horror ! Koorali  shrank  like  a wounded 
fawn.  She  turned  a pale  indignant  face,  to  meet  Lord  Arden’s  eyes. 
He  had  dropped  in  late.  He  gave  her  his  arm  and  took  her  down  to 
supper.  He  felt  like  some  knight  protecting  an  innocent  maiden. 

“I  know  what  Adrian  Maybank’s  conversation  is  to  men,”  he  said; 
“ I can  imagine  what  it  might  be  to  women.  When  he  was  younger, 
he  became  a sort  of  star  in  the  drawin  j -rooms ; and  it  was  the  fashion 
to  smile  behind  fans  at  Mr.  Maybank’s  spicy  anecdotes.  I will  tell 
you  what  a great  woman,  who  is  dead  now,  once  said  of  him.  It  will 
show  you  that  there  are  queens  of  womanhood  who  know  how  to  defend 
their  royalty.” 

There  was  a repressed  enthusiasm  about  Lord  Arden’s  way  of  talking, 
even  when  he  was  inclined  to  be  a little  cynical,  which  made  him  serna 
an  odd  blending  of  knight-errantry  and  nineteenth-centuryism. 

“ This  woman  had  been  a singer.  She  was  a genius.  The  blood 
of  the  tragedians  flowed  in  her  veins.  She  was  a muse  herself.  I wish 
I could  describe  her  to  you.  She  was  diamond-eyed ; and  when  roused, 
she  could  break  into  flashing  speech.  I mean  Adelaide  Kemble ; and 
I get  Carlylesque  when  she  is  my  subject.  I saw  her  one  evening  a 
few  years  back — she  was  past  her  prime,  but  magnificent  still — in 
a room  full  of  people,  clever  and  fashionable,  when  Adrian  Maybank, 
his  talent,  his  wit,  his  social  charm  were  under  discussion.  She  was 
silent,  with  her  elbow  resting  upon  a table,  her  chin  upon  her  hand, 
her  eyebrows  bent  ominously,  till  appealed  to  by  her  hostess.  ‘ And 
you,  Mrs.  Sartoris,  what  is  your  opinion?’  I tell  you,  it  was  some- 
thing beautiful  to  see  the  dramatic  gesture,  the  flame  from  those  dark 
eyes,  the  Kemble  head  thrown  back;  to  hear  the  clear,  thrilling  voice 
which  spoke  slowly  and  deliberately — ‘ When  Adrian  Maybank  enters 
a room  in  which  I am,  there  is  but  one  thing  I would  say,  “ Women 
and  boys,  leave  the  court.”  ’ That  was  all,  Mrs.  Kenway.  She  went 
back  to  her  former  attitude,  but  no  one  seemed  very  ready  then  to 
carry  on  the  praise  of  Adrian  Maybank.” 

The  episode  of  this  introduction  did  not  end  here.  The  next  morn- 
1 ing  Koorali  received  from  Mr.  Maybank  a tiny  presentation  volume  of 
poems  which  celebrated,  in  language  of  old-fashioned  free  gallantry, 
the  charms  of  various  well-known  ladies,  to  whose  initials  the  poet 
had,  for  the  stranger’s  enlightenment,  appended  in  his  crabbed  hand- 
writing the  other  letters  of  their  names.  Enclosed  with  the  volume 
was  a copy  of  sparkling  vers  de  society  addressed  to  the  fair  Australian. 
They  were  the  last  Adrian  Maybank  ever  wrote ; for  he  died  suddenly 
the  following  day.  He  had,  however,  distributed  the  little  poem 
widely. 


THE  “LANGUOROUS  TROPIC  FLOWER? 


105 


Thus  was  Koor&li  made  famous  ; to  Morse’s  vague  regret ; to  Lady 
Betty’s  childlike  satisfaction;  to  the  envy  of  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp ; 
and  to  the  astonishment  and  alarm  of  the  Family  generally,  who  were 
convinced  that  such  sudden  notoriety  could  not  be  consistent  with 
good  morals.  Some  paragraph  in  a social  weekly,  and  a few  indis- 
criminate rumours  penetrating  the  sacred  circle,  finally  brought  about 
a family  conclave,  in  the  course  of  which  Lady  Canteloupe  gave  out 
the  resolution  that  it  was  desirable  Mrs.  Crichton  should  be  snubbed ; 
for  Lady  Canteloupe  was  one  of  those  strictly  proper  ladies  who  hold 
the  theory  that  virtue  is  a tender  plant  which  can  only  flourish  in  the 
domestic  forcing-house.  Zenobia  was  not  included  in  the  family  con- 
clave. She  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  that  she  and  Koorali  were 
pledged  to  an  offensive  and  defensive  alliance  against  the  Family. 

“Well!”  she  said  abruptly  to  Koorali,  when  according  to  her 
announcement  she  came  to  luncheon,  “ do  you  feel  a little  less  cheap 
than  when  I saw  you  first — now  that  you  are  being  turning  into  a 
professional  beauty  ? You  see,  I was  right.  If  I have  the  money,  you 
have  what  is  higher  in  the  market.” 

Zenobia  often  came  to  call  on  Koorali.  Crichton  shuddered  faintly 
at  the  sight  of  her  carriage,  which  he  used  to  notice  standing  at  his 
door;  and  he  always  hoped,  on  these  occasions,  that  none  of  his 
fashionable  friends  would  call  at  the  same  time.  It  was  a very  mag- 
nificent turn-out,  with  as  much  gold  plating  and  ornamental  chain- 
work  as  could  be  attached  to  the  harness. 

“ I wonder  you  don’t  persuade  your  wife  to  drop  that  style  of  Lord 
Mayor’s  coach,”  Crichton  said  once  to  his  brother  Eustace. 

“ Ah ! ” Eustace  had  a quiet  irritating  way  of  putting  his  eyeglass 
in  his  eye,  and  languidly  answering  a question  or  remark  which  an- 
noyed him.  “ It’s  her  money,  you  know.  I suppose  she  has  a right 
to  buy  a Lord  Mayor’s  coach  if  she  likes  it.” 

Crichton  said  no  more.  He  was  clever  enough  to  see  that  Eustace  t» 
exaggerated  tolerance  of  his  wife’s  eccentricities  concealed  a gall.  It 
was  very  evident  that  Eustace  had  married  without  love,  and  was 
ashamed  of  having  done  so. 

KoorMi  did  not,  as  Zenobia  herself  would  have  phrased  it,  “ tumble 
to  ” her  sister-in-law.  She  was  oppressed  by  Zenobia’s  exuberant 
vitality,  by  her  frankness  which  seemed  a want  of  delicacy,  and  by  her 
slang  and  boyish  manners.  There  was  almost  nothing  in  common 
between  them  except  a certain  sincerity  and  love  of  truth,  character- 
istic of  both.  KoorMi  thought,  at  first,  that  Zenobia  was  vulgar. 
After  a while,  she  began  to  feel  that  the  over-dressing  and  apparent 
ostentation  of  wealth  were  not  vulgarity,  but  were  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  poor  little  Sheffield  heiress  had  had  no  experience  of  anything 
else.  It  all  . came  as  naturally  to  her  as  the  dignity  of  simplicity  comes 
to  others.  Then  KoorMi  saw  that  Zenobia  was  making  discoveries, 
that  she  was  not  happy,  and  that  she  found  it  hard  to  adapt  her  crude, 
hoydenish,  material  views  of  life  to  the  more  complex  condition  of 
things  which  her  marriage  had  brought  about.  There  was  something 
8 


io6 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


in  her  attitude  which  touched  KooiMi.  She  seemed  to  he  always 
observing  and  drawing  conclusions. 

Zenobia  observed  particularly  Koorali’s  relations  with  her  husband, 
and  Ken  way’s  way  of  treating  his  wife.  Crichton,  though  never  abso- 
lutely rude  or  rough,  had  a rasping,  overbearing  manner  at  home,  in 
marked  contrast  with  his  manners  when  abroad — a way  of  harking 
upon  mean  detail,  of  fault-finding,  and  of  attributing  the  lowest  motiv  e 
to  every  action,  which  often  caused  Kooiali  to  wince,  destroying  her 
spontaneity  and  self-confidence,  and  making  her  timid  and  reserved, 
and  less  and  less  a thing  of  tiesh  and  blood. 

Once,  when  Kenway  had  left  the  room,  after  some  irritating  dis- 
cussion on  household  affairs,  Zenobia  said,  with  a touch  of  bitterness — 

“ There  ought  to  be  a training-school  for  girls  who  mean  to  marry. 
They  should  tell  us  beforehand  that  we  are  going  to  become  items — 
pieces  of  furniture.  If  one  of  us  happens  to  be  rich,  she  is  rosewood, 
gilded  ; that’s  all  the  difference.  I sometimes  wish  I were  plain  deal, 
and  then,  perhaps,  Eustace  might  permit  himself  to  storm  at  me.” 

“ Should  you  like  to  be  stormed  at,  Zen  ?”  asked  Koorali  listlessly. 

“No,  dear,  it  would  be  b-beastly.  But  I should  like  it  better  than 
nagging  or  being  let  alone.  Not  that  Eustace  nags — he  leaves  that  to 
Crichton.  He  is  too  polite.  He  only  lets  me  alone.  It’s  a little 
crushing  to  find  one’s  lover  asleep  when  one  has  been  making  tender 
speeches  to  him.  Eustace  went  to  sleep  regularly  in  the  train  on  our 
honeymoon.  He  tried  to  keep  awake,  but  he  couldn’t.  He  was  too 
polite  to  begin  reading  all  at  once;  now  he  doesn’t  make  any  b-bones 
about  that.  He  buys  French  novels;  and  then  I want  to  box.  his  ears 
and  say,  d-a-m-n — so  there!  ” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed  Koorali  suddenly,  with  a passion  that  surprised 
herself.  “ To  be  let  alone  is  just  the  one  good  thing  in  life  one  may 
not  have.” 

At  that  moment  Lance,  the  child,  came  running  in  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand. 

“ Aunt  Zen,  Uncle  Eustace  is  waiting  in  the  carriage,  and  he  says 
he  wants  you.” 

“ Tell  Uncle  Eustace  I’m  not  a spaniel,”  said  Zenobia ; but  she  said 
good-bye  to  Koorali  and  went. 

Zenobia  sometimes  met  Lord  Arden  at  Koorali’s  house ; and  she 
threw  herself  with  enthusiasm  into  his  schemes  of  philanthropic 
reform.  He  was  at  this  time  much  interested  in  a plan  for  providing 
homes  and  places  of  recreation  for  young  workwomen.  Zenobia  lis- 
tened to  him  one  day,  and  the  next  sent  him  a cheque  for  a large  sum 
which  she  begged  might  be  used  at  his  discretion.  Her  impulsive 
generosity  somewhat  embarrassed  Lord  Arden,  and  also  her  eagerly 
expressed  wish  to  have  an  active  share  in  the  work.  Mrs.  Eustace 
Ken  way,  in  her  French  dresses,  with  her  gorgeous  carriage  and  pow- 
dered footmen,  seemed  incongruous  among  the  workwomen.  But  he 
had  taken  a liking  to  the  good-natured,  spoilt  child;  and  he,  too,  dis- 
cerned something  of  that  pathetic  element  below  the  surface  which 


THE  « LANGUOROUS  TROPIC  FLOWER? 


107 


touched  Koorali.  Zenobia  was  always  less  brusque,  somehow,  when 
he  was  present.  It  was  at  one  of  his  benevolent  entertainments  that 
Zenobia  first  met  Lady  Betty  Morse.  She  came  to  be  known  in  Lady 
Betty’s  set,  as  “ that  dreadful  sister-in-law  of  pretty  Mrs.  Crichton 
Ken  way ; ” which  was  a little  hard  on  poor  Zen,  though  it  was  but 
too  natural  th*t  she  should  set  Lady  Betty’s  teeth  on  edge.  Lady 
Betty  was  in  some  sort  a revelation  to  Mrs.  Eustace,  who  began  to 
have  faint  glimmerings  on  the  subjects  of  over-dressing  and  gold- 
plated  harness.  But  the  glimmerings  were  very  faint,  and  did  not  yet 
broaden  to  the  Priory,  for  which  Zenobia  was  just  now  buying  the  most 
magnificent  modern  furniture  that  Tottenham  Court  Road  could  produce. 

Koorali  was  herself  one  of  the  very  last  to  find  out  her  own  success; 
and  when  she  did  at  last  find  it  out  she  was  much  amused,  and  went 
into  the  part  as  she  might  into  an  evening  of  private  theatricals.  She 
did  not  care  in  the  least  about  the  success,  except  that  it  amused  her 
and  helped  her  to  escape  from  thinking  of  other  things.  Moreover,  it 
oiled  the  wheels  of  domestic  life ; for  Crichton  was  pleased,  and  appre- 
ciated her  in  proportion  as  she  was  made  much  of. 

A French  diplomatist  of  rank,  who  sat  next  to  her  at  dinner  one 
day,  paid  her  many  compliments  in  his  own  tongue.  Koorali  was  not 
listening  very  attentively,  and  perhaps  had  not  that  perfect  mastery  of 
the  language  which  is  apparently  the  natural  possession  of  every  heroine 
of  fiction.  She  heard  the  diplomatist  talking  a great  deal  about  a 
certain  “ languorous  tropic  flower ; ” and  she  thought  he  was  giving 
her  a description  of  some  new  discovery  in  botany.  It  was  only  when 
she  compelled  herself  to  pay  a little  more  attention  to  his  talk,  that 
she  found  out  that  she  was  the  languorous  tropic  flower,  and  that  her 
neighbour  was  paying  her  an  elaborate  compliment. 

“ But  you  know,”  she  quietly  said,  in  as  good  French  as  she  could 
command,  “ Australia  is  not  in  the  tropics.” 

“Still,  the  place  you  come  from  is  all  but  tropical.  Oh  yes,  I 
know,”  he  insisted. 

She  told  him  its  degree  of  latitude.  The  compliment  withered 
under  this  mode  of  treatment,  even  as  the  tropical  flower  itself  might 
have  fared  under  a shower  of  sleet.  The  diplomatist  afterwards  gave 
out  that  Madame  Ken  way  was  witty,  but  a little,  just  a little  malign, 
which  did  not  harm  Madame  Kenway  much  in  sociery. 

Koorali’s  success,  intensely  gratifying  to  her  husband,  seemed  to 
him  his  success,  too.  In  fact  it  was  so.  They  had  three  times  more 
invitations  to  dinner  than  they  could  possibly  accept;  and  Kenway 
positively  insisted  on  their  accepting  all  they  could.  Koorali  did  not 
mind  much  ; she  was  as  willing  to  do  one  thing  as  another.  Perhaps 
she  would  rather  go  out  anywhere  now,  than  remain  at,  home  a whole 
evening  with  her  husband.  Only  two  men  had  much  interest  for  her 
in  all  the  crowd  she  used  to  meet.  One  was  Lord  Arden — and  she 
frankly  admitted  to  herself  her  interest  in  him ; the  other,  of  course, 
was  Morse ; and  about  him  she  did  not  admit  herself  to  anything  like 
self-examination — as  yet. 


ioS 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  TERRACE. 

They  met  very  often — Lady  Betty’s  charming  patronage  of  KooiMi 
and  pretty  way  of  “making  things  nice  for  her,”  brought  this  about 
most  naturally — at  Morse’s  house.  Koorali  became  quite  a feature  oi 
the  little  luncheon  parties  for  which  Lady  Betty  was  celebrated,  and 
at  which  Lady  Deveril  gathered  plentiful  “copy.”  But  apart  from 
such  occasions,  she  saw  him  frequently  in  her  own  home.  Perhaps 
Lady  Betty  was  hardly  aware  of  the  frequency  of  these  visits,  but  had 
she  been  so,  she  would  have  thought  nothing  of  it.  It  never  occurred 
to  Morse  either  to  suppress  the  fact  of  his  friendship  with  Koorali,  or 
to  make  much  of  it.  He  had  glided  quite  naturally  into  the  intimacy, 
quite  naturally  into  a habit  of  dropping  in  at  Mrs.  Kenway’s  on  his 
way  to  the  House  in  the  afternoons,  and  of  talking  to  her,  at  first 
vaguely,  of  his  political  opinions,  his  hopes  and  fears  for  England,  all 
the  “views”  which  Lady  Betty  had  a fashion  of  dismissing  as  being 
merely  picturesque  and  the  proper  thing  for  a Radical  statesman.  But 
Koorali  took  them  seriously,  and  had  a grave  way  of  listening  and  of 
looking  at  him  as  he  talked,  and  of  putting  in  every  now  and  then  a 
word  or  two  of  intelligent  sympathy  that  had  a strangely  soothing 
effect  upon  him. 

Exciting  questions  were  coming  up.  The  elections  were  talked  of 
and  the  chances  of  war,  which  rumbled  like  thunder  in  the  distance, 
or  like  the  slow  upheaving  that  heralds  an  earthquake.  In  the  lull 
before  the  storm,  the  Government  was  affecting  to  busy  itself  with 
Australian  affairs,  a safe  subject  to  handle;  and  the  first  reading  of 
the  Federation  Bill,  of  which  Morse  had  spoken  to  Koorali,  was  to 
come  on.  The  first  note  which  she  ever  received  from  Morse  was 
written  from  the  House  of  Commons,  and  in  reference  to  this  debate. 
It  gave  her  a curious  thrill  of  pleasure.  No  one  had  ever  before 
written  to  her  from  that  place.  It  seemed  to  revive  crude  girlish 
dreams,  when  she  had  visions  of  being  a power  in  unwritten  Austra- 
lian history,  and  of  swaying  the  councils  of  public  men.  She  began 
to  feel  within  her  breast  a rising  up  of  her  old  self,  her  real  self,  which 
her  marriage  had  crushed.  She  seemed  to  know  suddenly  that  she  had 
resources  of  intellect  and  emotion  never  yet  brought  out.  It  was  an 
odd  sort  of  fancy;  it  frightened  her  a little. 

Morse’s  note  was  short,  scarcely  telling  her  more  than  that  he  would 
speak  the  next  evening.  One  little  passage  at  its  close,  however, 
touched  her,  for  it  seemed  to  speak  of  weariness  and  dejection. 

“I  am  writing  to  you  from  one  of  the  lobbies  ‘upstairs,’  as  our 
phrase  is  here.  The  debate  going  on  below  drags  and  drones,  and  I 
would  that  I were  a travelling  tinker,  and  might  wander  away  through 
green  fields  and  down  by  the  river  with  the  bulrushes,  which  somehow 
I associate  with  Australia  and  vou.” 


THE  TERRACE. 


109 

It  had  been  at  first  settled  that  Lndy  Betty  should  take  KoorMi  to 
the  House  of  Commons,  but  when  the  time  came,  it  happened  that  the 
debate  clashed  with  a grand  fete  at,  the  Inventories — almost  the  last 
event  of  the  season — a sort  of  Floral  Fair,  at  which  Royalty  had 
graciously  consented  to  hold  a stall,  and  at  which  Lady  B^tty  Morse 
was  to  assist  Royalty,  attended  by  the  boy  Lennie  dressed  in  mediaeval 
page’s  costume.  All  the  professional  beauties,  and  many  beauties  who 
were  not  professional,  would  as  a matter  of  course  be  at  the  fete.  Lady 
Betty  insisted  that  Koorali  must  take  her  stand  amongst  them. 

Ken  way  was  at  first  very  much  annoyed  when  after  luncheon  that 
day  she  declared  her  intention  of  going  to  the  House  of  Commons 
instead.  She  did  not  at  the  moment  say  that  Morse  was  to  speak. 
It  was  one  of  Koor&li’s  faults  perhaps,  at  any  rate  one  of  the  reasons 
why  she  and  Kenway  did  not  “ get  on,”  that  she  could  never  even  in 
a trivial  discussion  meet  him  frankly  with  mind  bared,  as  such  a 
woman  would  naturally  have  done  had  she  been  sure  of  sympathetic 
comprehension.  She  had  a nervous,  almost  physical  dread  of  being 
misinterpreted,  and  shrank  from  an  abrupt  word  as  a timid  woman 
might  shrink  from  an  expected  blow.  This  attitude  irritated  Ken  way 
inexpressibly ; and  Koorali  felt  and  owned  to  herself  that  he  some- 
times had  reason  on  his  side. 

“ What  an  infernal  fool  you  are,”  he  said  wrathfully,  “ You  have 
opportunities  made  for  you  which  don’t  fall  to  the  chance  of  one 
woman  in  a million,  and  you  don’t  know  how  to  take  advantage  of 
them.  Last  night  you  wouldn’t  go  to  the  Coulmonts,  because  you  had 
a headache,  or  some  such  rot,  and  my  lord  was  as  gruff  as  could  be. 
You  might  remember  that  this  season  is  a sort  of  speculation  to  me. 
Do  you  suppose  that  I should  go  in  for  it  if  I didn’t  mean  to  make 
money  out  of  it  ? You  might  consider  my  interests.” 

“ I don’t  know  how  I should  be  serving  your  interests  by  going  to 
the  Inventories  this  evening,”  said  Koorali.  “ I should  certainly  not 
make  any  money,  and  that  is  what  we  most  need  just  now.” 

Crichton  got  up  and  stood  with  his  back  against  the  mantelpiece,  the 
picture  of  angry  discontent. 

“ I am  glad  you  are  beginning  to  realize  that,”  he  said  in  his  grating, 
cynical  voice.  “ As  a rule,  you  take  things  as  coolly  as  if  you  had. 
been  born  a millionaire,  instead  of — what  you  were.  The  fact  is,  that 
unless  my  speculation  succeeds,  you  will  not  be  likely  in  future  to  see 
much  of  the  people  you  may  meet  to-night.  Every  day  we  are  getting 
deeper  into  debt.  That  would  not  matter  much  if  I had  any  way  of 
raising  money,  but  I have  next  to  none  now.  I am  sure  to  lose  my 
appointment  before  long.  In  the  Australian  telegrams  to-day,  the 
South  Britain  Ministry  is  described  as  shaky.  What  shall  you  do 
then?  How  should  you  like  to  go  back  to  Australia,  or  to  vegetate 
down  at  the  Grey  Manor  ? ” 

Koorali  got  up  from  her  seat  too. 

“ Crichton,”  she  said  earnestly,  “ I have  told  you  over  and  over 
again  that  I am  willing,  anxious,  to  live  in  a smaller  house  and  give 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .J 


1 10 

up  the  carriage  and  all  that,  or  to  go  to  the  Grey  Manor.  You  might 
have  rooms  near  your  office;  I shouldn’t  mind,  I should  like  that. 
But  while  we  are  living  in  this  way — so  far  beyond  our  means,  and 
making  no  effort  to  retrench,  the  only  thing  is  to  try  and  forget  the 
falseness  and  hollowness  of  it  all.  And  so  I take  things  coolly,  as  you 
say.” 

“It  would  he  more  to  the  purpose  if  you  helped  me,  by  making 
yourself  agreeable  to  Lord  Commont  and  people  of  influence.  But  you 
let  men  drop  in  the  most  tactless  way — fellows  who  might  be  of  ser- 
vice to  me.  You  offend  them,  and  do  more  harm  than  good.” 

“ You  should  rather  say,”  answered  Koorali  with  sarcastic  emphasis, 
“ that  they  offend  me.” 

“ My  dear,  what  woman  was  it,  that  boasted  she  had  never  lost  a 
lover  without  turning  him  into  a friend?  I am  afraid  you  haven’t 
learned  that  art.  All  men  of  the  world  make  love  to  a pretty  woman. 
You  are  old  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself.  I don’t  see  how  it  can 
hurt  you  if  Coulmont,  for  instance,  who  will  be  at  the  Inventories  to- 
night and  on  the  look-out  for  you,  should  make  you  a few  pretty 
speeches.  The  man  is  pleasant — and  may  be — useful.” 

Koorali  said  not  a*word.  She  moved  to  the  writing-table. 

“ What  are  you  doing  ? ” asked  Kenway. 

“ 1 am  writing  a note  to  Lady  Betty  Morse  to  say  that  I can’t  be  at 
her  stall  this  evening.” 

Crichton  strode  forward.  “ I must  beg  that  you  will  change  youi 
mind,”  he  said,  his  tone  suggesting  intense  anger  bottled  up.  He 
paused  suddenly,  and  added  abruptly,  “ Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  go 
to  the  House  ? ” 

“ Because,”  replied  Koorali,  turning  to  him  with  clear  eyes,  “ Mr. 
Morse  is  going  to  speak  on  the  Federation  Bill,  and  he  has  sent  me  a 
note  to  say  that  he  has  got  a seat  for  me  in  the  Ladies’  Gallery.” 

She  saw  the  expression  of  her  husband’s  face  change  completely.  At 
the  same  moment,  a rush  of  crimson  dyed  her  own  cheeks,  and  some- 
thing seemed  to  catch  her  breath  and  almost  to  choke  her — a swiftly 
darting  thought,  sensation,  she  hardly  knew  what  it  was.  She  turned 
away  her  eyes.  The  china  figures  on  a bracket  near  were  outlined 
with  odd  distinctness.  It  was  as  though  she  had  never  noticed  them 
before.  She  could  not  look  at  Ken  way  with  that  consciousness  between 
them.  She  could  not  go  on  with  her  note.  The  words  “ Dear  Lady 
Betty,”  which  she  had  written,  seemed  to  stand  out  like  letters  of  lire. 

It  was  only  for  a few  seconds.  There  came  a quick  revulsion. 
Self- wonderment  and  scorn,  and  the  sense  of  loyalty  to  her  friend 
thrust  away  the  suggestion  that  stung  her,  and  she  seemed  to  be 
standing  at  arms,  not  in  her  own  defence,  but  in  defence  of  others. 
She  hardly  heard  her  husband’s  words. 

“Yon  are  quite  right,  Koorali.  You  ought  to  go  and  hear  Morse, 
especially  as  he  wishes  it,  and  it’s  an  Australian  subject.  I’ll  square 
things  with  Coulmont.  He  won’t  think  any  the  worse  of  you,  or  of  me, 
because  Sandham  Morse  values  your  opinion.” 


THE  TERRACE 


in 


KoorMi  uttered  a little  cry,  almost  of  pain. 

“ Crichton ! ” she  exclaimed,  and  there  was  an  imploring  note  in  hei 
voice,  “you  talk  in  a strange,  hard  way  sometimes,  as  if  you  thought 
nothing  mattered  about  me,  or  about  anything,  so  long  as  we  get 
money  and  are  sought  after  by  great  people.  But  you  don’t  mean  it  ? 
You  wouldn’t  like  me  to  be  spoken  lightly  of,  or — or  to  lose  my  own 
self-respect?  You  can’t  like  this  hollowness  and  mockery,  and  the 
jarring  there  is  between  us  whenever  we  talk  about  real  things.  Oh, 
Crichton  ! if  you  had  only  been  more  gentle  with  me — if  you  had.  only 
understood  me  better,  we  shouldn’t  be  such  poor  companions  to  each 
other  now ! ” 

“ I don’t  find  you  a poor  companion,  Koorali,”  said  Crichton,  half 
amused,  half  touched.  “ You  have  improved  very  much  since  you 
have  been  going  into  society,  and  have  learned  how  to  dress  and  how  to 
talk.  You  see  now  that  South  Britain  isn’t  the  world,  and  that  it’s 
the  way  of  doing  things  which  makes  all  the  difference.  As  for  wish- 
ing you  to  be  ‘ lightly  spoken  of,’  you  must  surely  be  aware  that  I am 
the  last  man  to  allow  my  name  to  be  dragged  in  the  mire.” 

Koorali  had  stretched  out  her  hands  involuntary  to  him.  She  drew 
them  back  now,  and  let  them  fall  by  her  sides. 

“ As  for  understanding  you,”  continued  Ken  way,  with  a little  laugh, 
“you  seem  to  fancy  yourself  a sort  of  Chinese  puzzle,  that  has  to  be 
taken  to  pieces  and  put  together  again.  That’s  not  my  idea  of  a 
woman  or  of  marriage.  If  so,  there  is  something  decidedly  rotten  about 
the  whole  thing.” 

“ I quite  agree  with  you,  my  dear  Crichton,”  said  Koorali,  with  some 
spirit,  sitting  down  again  and  beginning  to  dash  off  her  note.  “There 
is  something  decidedly  rotten,  as  you  express  it,  about  the  whole 
thing.  I fancy  that  view  would  commend  itself  to  most  men  and 
women  who  ever  think  at  all  about  marriage  in  the  abstract.” 

“Come,”  said  Kenway,  going  up  to  her  and  putting  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder — he  did  not  notice  that  she  winced  ever  so  slightly  under  his 
touch — “you  need  not  get  savage  or  go  into  a forty-eight  hours’  sulk 
about  nothing.  Wish  me  luck  at  the  bank,  rather.  I’m  going  to  try 
and  screw  an  advance  out  of  the  manager,  and  shall  have  to  mnke  up 
some  cock-and-bull  excuse  for  wanting  it  which  won’t  damage  my 
credit.  I think  I had  better  lay  it  on  you,  and  say  we  have  been  send- 
ing money  out  to  Australia  to  your  brother.  They  know  he  has  been 
nearly  cleaned  out  with  the  drought,  and  has  had  a row  with  Middle- 
mist.  But  no,  that  story  won’t  do;  they  might  try  and  verily  it.” 

The  bank  with  which  Crichton  Ken  way  had  dealings  was  the  London 
branch  of  an  Australian  firm.  The  principal  knew  Kenway  well  enough 
to  grant  him  an  overd.aft  now  and  then  ; and  hitherto,  bv  some  lucky 
chance,  things  had  always  been  p it  straight  again.  Bur  these  accom- 
modations and  the  friendly  footing  they  were  on  entitled  him,  as  it 
were,  to  ask  free  questions  as  to  the  uses  to  which  the  money  was  to 
be  applied,  and  the  ins  and  outs  generally  of  Kenway’s  private  affairs, 
with  a view  of  course  to  the  security  of  the  loan.  It  was  a little  difh- 


112 


THE  RIGH'l  HONOURABLE, 


cult  always  to  wriggle  safely  out  of  these  inquiries;  but  Kenway's 
speciousness  served  him  on  such  occasions  in  good  stead.  He  had  the 
rare  knack  of  making  out  a good  case,  and  of  inspiring  confidence  in 
his  integrity,  which  had  tided  him  over  many  a serious  crisis.  But  this 
was  a much  more  serious  crisis  than  any  he  had  yet  had  to  encounter. 

“I  shall  ask  Bonhote  to  dinner,”  continued  Ken  wav,  taking  out  his 
engagement  book  and  looking  over  it.  Bonhote  was  the  manager  of 
the  Bank.  “ I see  we  are  free  on  Sunday.  One  can  get  so  much  more 
out  of  a man  over  a bottle  of  Leoville.  Remember,  if  he  comes,  that 
you  don’t  say  the  wrong  thing.  You  have  an  unhappy  knack  of  doing 
that,  dear,  when  a little  finesse  is  required.” 
u Oh,  do  not  let  us  tell  lies,”  cried  Koorkli.  “ I can’t  bear  it.  Some- 
times, when  I hear  you  making  up  a plausible  tale,  I shudder.  You 
would  lie  even  to  me,  if  it  served  your  purpose.” 

“ I wish  you  wouldn’t  take  things  like  that,”  returned  Ken  way,  a 
little  discomposed.  “ I am  only  doing  my  best  for  you  as  well  as  for 
myself.  We  are  in  a hole,  and  we  must  get  out  of  it.  If  I can’t  per- 
suade the  bank  to  give  me  another  leg-up,  I must  go  to  the  Jews. 
Well,  good-bye.  Go  to  the  House.  You’ll  take  the  carriage.  And 
get  Morse  to  give  you  some  coffee.  Go  with  him  for  a walk  on  the 
terrace,  and  make  the  running  with  him — in  politics,  my  dear — as  for 
flirtation,  I suppose  you  are  both  above  that — but  keep  an  eye  to 
my  interests,  and  don't  shirk  being  introduced  to  any  fellows  worth 
knowing.” 

lie  was  leaving  the  room.  At  the  door  Kocrali’s  voice  stopped  him. 
“ Crichton.” 

“Well?” 

“Will  you  go  with  me  this  evening?” 

“ To  the  House  ? No.  Why  should  I ? Morse  will  look  after  you. 
I don’t  care  a straw  about  federation,  though,  of  course,  I mustn’t  let 
people  think  so.  And  then  I want  to  make  it  all  right  with  Coulmont. 
it  won’t  do  for  a Cabinet  Minister  to  fancy  you  mean  to  drop  him,  be- 
cause he  has  been  foolish  enough  to  admire  you.” 

Kenway  laughed  again  that  rasping  laugh,  which  grated  so  on  his 
wife’s  nerves.  He  did  not  give  her  time  to  make  any  remonstrance, 
but  left  the  room ; and  presently  she  heard  the  hall  door  closing  with 
a bang  behind  him. 

Kooikli  did  not  at  this  time  know  much  about  the  House  of  Com- 
mons; but  she  expected  somehow  that  Morse  would  be  waiting  to 
receive  her,  and  that  he  would  put  everything  right  for  her.  She 
drove  to  the  door  of  the  Ladies’  Gallery  in  the  inner  courtyard,  and 
there  she  did  find  Morse  waiting.  He  was  a little  surprised  at  seeing 
her  alone ; but  he  did  not  say  anything  of  that  to  her.  She  evidently 
had  not  thought  about  the  matter,  or  did  not  know  that  ladies  do  not 
usually  come  alone  to  the  House  of  Commons.  He  could  get  Lady 
Betty  to  give  her  a hint  some  time,  he  said  to  himself ; and  it  really 
did  not  matter  much  in  any  case.  So  he  took  KooiYli  to  her  place  in 
the  gallery,  and  in  due  course  of  time  there  came  on  the  motion  for  the 


THE  TERRACE . 


113 

debate  an  the  second  reading  of  the  Australian  Federation  Bill,  and 
Morse  made  his  speech.  It  was  not  a long  speech  ; it  did  not  oppose 
the  measure ; it  merely  warned  the  young  colonies  against  the  respon- 
sibilities, political  and  moral,  of  a ciose  fellowship  and  partnership  with 
the  old  empire.  There  was  a democratic  and  almost  a republican 
dash  about  tbe  speech  which  delighted  the  little  republican  from  South 
Britain.  Koorali  felt  her  old  enthusiasm  revive.  Morse’s  voice  was 
strong,  sweet,  and  penetrating,  with  a metallic  ring  in  its  scornful 
tone.  It  thrilled  her  as  no  other  voice  had  ever  done.  Koorali  recalled 
afterwards  to  her  memory,  with  a certain  shamefacedness,  that  she 
found  herself  trembling  with  excitement  when  Morse  began  to  speak. 

After  his  speech,  he  came  to  the  galhry  for  Koorali,  and  brought 
her  downstairs.  He  had  asked  her  to  come  and  see  the  library;  but 
she  refused.  She  had  not  many  minutes  left,  she  said;  she  wished  to 
get  home  before  it  became  late. 

Now,  when  the  excitement  was  over,  she  felt  shy  and  strange.  She 
had  a painful  consciousness  of  some  hidden  meaning  in  Crichton’s 
words  that  afternoon,  a meaning  she  might  have  discovered  readily 
enough  had  Lord  Coulmont  or  any  other  man  been  in  question,  but 
whicn  she  could  not,  would  not,  apply  to  Morse. 

She  declined  his  offer  of  coffee ; and  she  shrank  from  introductions 
to  any  of  his  Iriends.  She  grew  hot  as  she  remembered  the  change  in 
her  husband’s  manner,  and  his  reference  to  influential  people ; hot  to 
think  that  he  had  recommended  her  to  “ make  the  running,”  even  in 
politics,  with  Morse.  When  Morse  begged  her  at  least  to  take  one 
turn  on  the  terrace,  she  hesitated  and  looked  troubled. 

“Mrs.  Keuway,”  he  said,  “why  are  you  in  such  a hurry  to  leave 
us?  You  are  not  going  anywhere  this  evening,  I know;  and  your 
husband  is  at  the  Inventories  enjoying  the  Royalties — as  mucli  perhaps 
as  Lady  Betty,”  he  added  with  a little  laugh. 

“ Lady  Betty ” Koorali  began,  and.  stopped  awkwardly.  The 

thought  struck  her  suddenly,  how  strange  it  was,  that  while  the  hus- 
band was  almost  denouncing  monarchy  in  the  House  of  Commons,  the 
wife  should  be  in  devoted  attendance  upon  its  future  representatives. 
It  seemed  to  tell  of  a divergence  of  aims  and  interests ; it  seemed  an 
incongruity.  It  was  sad,  she  thought,  and  it  deepened  in  her  mind 
the  impression — always  there,  though  sometimes  argued  against  as 
foolish — of  Morse’s  loneliness.  Lady  Betty  enjoys  everything,”  she 
added ; but  the  words  were  obviously  not  those  she  had  been  on  the 
point  of  uttering. 

“ And  you  too  ? ” he  said.  “ Yes,  I think  you  do.  Do  you  know 
that,  in  spite  of  the  wear  and  tear  of  fashionable  life,  you  lot  k 
stronger  and  brighter  now  than  you  did  when  I first  saw  you  in 
England — at  my  own  house?” 

“ Yes,”  she  answered  simply,  “I  am  happier  now.” 

To  him  there  was  something  infinitely  pathetic  in  her  reply.  She 
was  too  truthful  to  hide  from  him  that  she  had  not  been  happy,  that 
she  was  not  now  quite  happy.  It  touched  him  strangely  that  she 


H4 


* THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


should  not  make  any  flimsy  pretence  to  him.  Her  sincerity  was  in 
harmony  with  the  nature  of  their  relationship  to  each  other.  It  was 
an  unconscious  tribute — not  to  his  vanity,  for  he  was  not  vain — but  to 
his  manliness.  And  yet  she  had  never  knowingly  given  him  the  least 
insight  into  her  married  life.  Koorali  was  so  loyal,  that  not  even  to 
her  closest  friend  would  she  utter  one  word  in  disparagement  of  her 
husband.  Morse  had  beard  her,  under  stress  of  social  necessity,  put 
on  the  conventional  wifely  air,  say  pretty  things  implying  accord 
between  herself  and  her  husband,  and  respond  outwardly  to  Crichton’s 
“devoted ” manner.  All  the  time  he  had  known  it  was  acting,  and 
had  felt  intuitively  that  she  knew  he  saw  through  such  sad,  wifelv, 
pious  hypocrisy.  He  had  always  an  impulse  to  protect  her  in  some 
fashion,  as  though  she  were  a child  not  understood  by  its  parents,  and 
bewildered  at  being  forced  into  an  attitude  foreign  to  its  nature.  He 
wanted  to  take  the  little  thing’s  hand,  as  it  were,  and  lead  her  away,  and 
let  her  be  her  own  sweet,  truthful  self.  He  felt  thus  at  this  moment. 
He  could  not  hold  his  voice  in  restraint,  though  his  words  were  calm. 

“No,  it  doesn’t  satisfy  you,”  he  said.  “ You  don’t  care  for  the  sort 
of  thing  people  call  ‘getting  on  in  society ’” 

“Oh,”  she  interrupted  impulsively,  “the  falseness,  the  seeming  to 
be  what  we  are  not — that  is  what  I cannot  bear.”  Then,  as  if  regret- 
ting her  outburst,  she  faltered,  “ I — I mean,  Mr.  Morse,  that  we  are 
not  like  you  and  Lady  Betty — it  suits  you;  it  is  your  right  place,  but 
with  us — it  all  seems  a mistake  somehow.” 

He  looked  down  upon  her.  They  were  on  the  terrace  now.  There 
was  no  moon,  but  streams  of  amber  light  poured  out  from  the  windows 
of  the  library.  The  river,  hemmed  in  there  by  the  Westminster  and 
Lambeth  Bridges,  looked  like  a narrow  lake  edged  by  brilliant  points 
of  fire.  These,  reflected  in  the  water,  gave  curious  straight  bars  of 
light,  alternating  with  broad  and  dark  lines,  crossed  here  and  there  by 
the  black  outline  of  some  heavy  barge.  A solitary  lamp  upon  the  low 
mast  sent  out  its  reflection  like  a lengthened  flambeau  till  the  shining 
trail  was  lost  in  the  leaden  stillness  of  the  central  stream.  Further 
back,  on  the  south  side,  all  seemed  dusky  in  contrast,  the  great  block 
of  St.  Thomas’s  Hospital  looked  an  ill-defined  mass  dotted  with  rush- 
lights, and  the  grey  keep  of  Lambeth  Palace  showed  solemnly  among  the 
shadows  when  a ripple  on  the  water  put  out  the  reflected  lights  in  the 
river  and  allowed  the  objects  on  the  shore  a better  chance  of  being  seen. 

“ You  have  no  need  to  seem  anything  but  what  you  are,”  he  said 
very  gravely;  “for  no  one  who  knows  you  could  misunderstand  you. 
But  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Kenway ; it  doesn’t  suit  you — this  merry-go- 
round  sort  of  existence.  I of  en  think,  when  I watch  you  at  parties 
and  places,  that  though  you  are  talking  and  smiling,  and  quite  in  the 
world,  you  don’t  really  belong  to  it;  and  that  you  would  be  better 
pleased  to  be  with  your  children,  and” — he  paused  for  a moment, 
and  his  voice  deepened  ever  so  slightly — “ with  your — I mean  in  your 
own  home. 

Bhe  laughed  a little  jarringly,  and  her  voice  trembled  too.  “ I don’t 


THE  TERRACE . 


“5 

know,  Mr.  Morse.  You  mustn’t  think  that  I am  so  domestic  as  that. 
I don’t  think  I like  staying  at  home  very  much.” 

There  was  a silence  which  lasted  several  paces  till  they  turned  again 
in  their  walk.  Morse  had  mechanically  returned  the  salutation  of  a 
passing  member,  and  exchanged  a word  or  two  about  his  speech  that 
evening.  The  member  glanced  at  Koorali  and  raised  his  hat.  lie 
seemed  to  wish  to  prolong  the  conversation  so  that  an  introduction 
might  be  effected;  but  Morse  moved  on. 

“I  know  what  you  were  thinking  a minute  or  two  aso,”  he  said 
abruptly.  “It  struck  you  that  Lady  Betty  would  not  have  approved 
of  my  speech  to-night.” 

“Lady  Betty  does  not  think  that  you  are  in  earnest,”  Koorali 
answered. 

“ But  you  know  that  I am  very  much  in  earnest,”  he  said  gravely. 

There  was  a little  silence. 

“I  wish  your  words  could  pierce  to  the  very  heart  of  all  our 
colonies,”  Koorali  said  with  emotion.  This  was  her  first  direct  com- 
ment on  his  speech. 

“ You  liked  what  I said?”  he  asked  her  quite  seriously  and  gravely, 
as  if  he  were  talking  with  a man. 

“ Oh  yes.  I felt  every  word  of  it ; I agreed  in  every  word.  That 
is  our  danger;  I have  long  thought  it.  We  shall  become-  corrupted 
with  this  false  glory  of  war.  We  shall  think  we  are  sharers  of 
England’s  strength  and  fame  when  we  are  only  becoming  conspirators 
against  justice  and  mercy.  But  is  it  not  hard  for  you  to  be  so  im- 
partial, being  an  Englishman  ? ” 

She  spoke  brightly  and  without  shyness.  It  was  a relief  and  yet 
a half-admitted  disappointment  that  they  had  gone  off  the  more 
personal  ground.  To  discuss  any  general  subject  with  Morse  was 
always  a great  pleasure  to  her;  for  even  the  shortest  conversation 
seemed  to  reveal  new  meeting-points,  new  harmonies.  But  to  know 
that  he  took  a deep  individual  interest  in  her  gave  her  a curious  thrill, 
half  of  pain,  half  of  delight.  She  did  not  analyze  the  feeling.  She 
shrank  from  acknowledging  it,  but  she  was  conscious  of  it  all  the 
same.  She  wTas  glad  when  their  intercourse  was  of  a bright  happy 
kind,  and  this  was  often  ; for  then  it  was  a com  pan  onship  of  mind  and 
temperament  such  as  she  had  never  known  before  in  her  life. 

“They  tell  me  I am  anti-English — the  paoers  do,”  Morse  said,  with 
a smile.  “ My  own  fear  is  that  I am  rather  too  much  inclined  to  make 
an  idol  of  England.  I want  her  to  do  righ  t.” 

“Some  da}''  you  will  speak  with  the  voice  of  England,”  Koorali  said, 
her  own  voice  swelling  with  enthusiasm.  “ j wonder  if  I shall  be  here 
then;  or  if  we  shall  have  gone  back  to  South  Britain,  and  I shall  only 
read  in  the  papers  of  all  that  is  going  on  in  England?  Weil,  1 shall 
read  with  all  the  more  interest  because  of  what  I have  seen  and  heard 
to-night.  I shall  not  lorget  this.” 

“ 1 hope  you  will  be  here,”  Morse  said,  “ whatever  happens  to  the 
political  fortunes  of  us  and  our  parties.” 


r 16 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .J 


“Yes;  I should  like  to  stay  in  England  for  a little  yet,  and  see 
what  happens.”  Then  she  almost  caught  up  her  own  words,  and 
hurriedly  said,  “ It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Morse,  to  take  so  much 
trouble ; and  1 am  delighted ; and  I shall  always  remember  the  debate 
and  your  speech ; and  I think  I must  go  now.” 

“Yes;  1 suppose  you  must  go,”  Morse  said.  “I  am  so  glad  we 
agree  on  the>.e  questions,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  and  I hope  we  shall  meet  again 
before  long.  You  will  allow  me  to  come  and  see  you  again  some  day 
soon  V ” 

“Oh  yes,”  she  answered  impulsively;  “the  sooner  the  better.” 

She  turned  her  soft  dark  eyes  with  a look  of  almost  childlike  con- 
fidence up  to  him — she  did  seem  very  childlike  in  face,  form,  and 
expression  even  still — and  then  he  conducted  her  through  stony  courts 
and  draughty  passages  to  her  carriage,  and  she  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

“SHALL  I GO  TO  SEE  HER?” 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Koorali,  on  discovering  herself  to  be 
uncongenially  mated,  had  sunk  at  once  into  the  atritude  of  femme 
incomprle.  A bright  imaginative  girl,  accustomed  to  supremacy,  with 
ideals  and  aspirations  fed  by  a course  of  romantic  reading,  but  with  no 
practical  knowledge  of  life  or  human  nature,  even  of  the  most  limited 
kind,  she  had  married  under  stress  of  girlish  sorrow  and  disappoint- 
ment, just  as  a child  whom  its  guardians  had  deserted  might  trustingly 
put  its  hand  into  that  of  some  kindly  speaking  stranger  wTho  had 
offered  to  take  it  home.  Koorali  had  never  seriously  reflected  that  she 
might  be  making  a grave  mistake.  She  was  a very  ignorant  and  a 
very  pure-minded,  girl,  and  she  did  not  think  much  about  the  obliga- 
tions of  marriage,  or  of  marriage  itself,  except  as  being,  she  supposed, 
the  ultimate  destiny  of  all  women. 

Crichton  Ken  way,  good-looking  and  well-mannered,  with  a certain 
political  repute,  an  assured  position  that  seemed  to  offer  a prop  in  her 
loneliness,  and  an  unlimited  self-confidence  which  impressed  Koorali 
with  a sense  of  security,  attracted  her  fancy,  as  was  natural  enough; 
and  he,  being  very  much  in  love  with  the  Premier’s  pretty  daughter, 
and  making  a frank  display  of  apparently  good-humoured  if  somewhat 
unheroic  devotion,  would  have  satisfied  a girl  less  ignorant  than  Koorali 
and  with  not  so  strong  a craving  for  sympathy  and  affection. 

They  were  engaged  only  for  a mouth  or  two.  !5he  had  very  little 
time  for  self-analysis.  Occasionally  she  felt  a faint  qualm  of  doubt  as 
to  whether  this  were  the  all-absorbing  love,  the  perfect  kinship  of 
heart,  soul,  and  spirit,  of  which  in  poetic  moments  she  had  dreamed ; 
but  when  she  spoke  of  this  to  Crichton,  he  always  soothed  her  with 
the  hackneyed  assurance  that  love  in  its  fullest  sense  is  to  a woman 
au  impossibility  before  marriage.  Even  at  that  time  Koorali  had 


SHALL  I GO  TO  SEE  HER  ? 


117 

glimmerings  of  the  fact  that  there  was  not  a great  deal  of  soul  in 
Crichton  Kenway.  It  was  not,  however,  till  after  she  had  married 
him,  and  hourly  familiarity  had  rubbed  away  all  illusions,  that  indeed 
she  found  out  how  little  he  possessed,  how  shifty  was  his  standard  of 
the  right,  or  even  of  the  becoming,  how  self-interested  were  his 
motives,  how  material  his  views  of  life.  Underneath  Kenway’s  veneer 
of  refinement  there  was,  in  fact,  a certain  grossness,  all  the  more 
repelling  to  a sensitive,  sincere  woman,  because  in  ordinary  intercourse 
he  did  not  allow  it  to  become  apparent.  He  was  not  vicious,  but  he 
was  innately  coarse.  All  delicacy  of  manner  and  expression,  all  pretty 
euphemisms,  all  poetic  veils,  he  considered  as  so  much  of  the  em- 
broidery of  social  relationship,  so  many  affectations,  very  nice  in  their 
way,  and  necessary  to  the  probationary  condition;  but  after  the 
marriage  ceremony,  superfluous  and  a sign  of  weakness  in  sensible 
persons. 

Crichton  roughly  plucked  his  flower,  and  was  surprised  and  angry 
that  it  withered.  Or,  to  use  another  metaphor,  the  girl,  all  tender 
and  sensitive,  full  of  capacities  which  he  might  have  developed  and 
passionate  instincts  that  he  might  have  turned  in  whatever  direction 
he  pleased,  was  like  a stream  frozen  at  its  source. 

At  first  Koorali  was  almost  too  bewildered  to  realize  the  position 
completely.  She  only  knew  that  marriage  shocked  and  oppressed  her. 
She  struggled  against  the  feeling,  and  fancied  that  it  must  come  from 
something  unnatural  in  her  own  temperament;  and  she  fought  very 
bravely  against  the  nervous  horror,  the  craving  to  be  alone,  to  belong 
once  more  to  herself,  which  made  life  terrible  to  her.  Often  at  nights 
she  would  lie  awake  and  cry  silently,  and  wonder  why  she  cried — for 
she  could  not  at  first  bring  herself  to  admit  that  her  husband’s  com- 
panionship was  repugnant  to  her;  she  only  said  to  herself  that  she 
disliked  marriage. 

She  suffered  in  health,  she  grew  pale,  and  was  inclined  to  be 
hysterical.  This  annoyed  Crichton.  He  lost  his  temper.  He  was 
able  to  swear  without  raising  his  voice,  and  to  say  crude,  hard  things 
in  a way  that  hurt  like  a blow.  He  frightened  her ; she  was  not  strong 
physically.  She  felt  sometimes  like  a slave  who  is  full  of  passionate 
rebellion  and  dares  not  strike.  She  could  not  swear.  She  could  only 
keep  cold  silence,  or,  as  a woman  does,  say  bitter  words.  Then  began 
the  warring  over  petty  matters  which  is  the  curse  of  ill-assorted 
unions,  which  is  weariness  to  body  and  spirit.  Koorali  was  ignorant. 
She  had  never  been  taught  housekeeping.  She  knew  almost  nothing 
of  the  intricacies  of  table-serving  and  such-like  matters.  Her  own 
people  were  not  what  is  called  “ particular.”  Mr.  Middlemist  did  not 
much  concern  himself  that  his  claret  should  be  at  exactly  the  right 
temperature,  or  that  pate  de  foie  gras , Bombay  ducks,  and  such 
foreign  additions  to  a purely  Australian  bill  of  fare  should  be  provided 
for  him.  Crichton  Kenway  did  greatly  care  about  these  and  other 
things;  and  in  his  estimation,  Koorali,  as  a wife,  fell  short  in  a 
thousand  ways.  She  did  not  understand  that  in  an  English  establish- 


n8 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


rjent  things  were  ordered  thus,  and  thus  only,  and  that  to  transgress 
';he  gastronomic  code  was  crime  far  more  heinous  than  to  tell  a lie  or 
t<>  commit  a mean  action.  Her  pride  revolted  against  Ken  way's 
sarcasms,  which  seemed  intended  to  remind  her  of  the  inferiority  of 
her  or:gin.  When  she  had  brought  herself  into  a condition  of  quiet 
endurance,  or  even  contempt,  which  is  in  some  sort  a satisfaction,  the 
sense  of  contest  was  boring.  She  felt  this  fashion  of  intercourse  to  be 
slow  siaivation  of  heart  and  spirit.  She  learned  to  please  him  as  a 
hoosekieper,  but  this  did  not  much  mend  matters.  Kenway  in 
a state  of  serene  content  after  a dinner  which  he  had  enjoyed  was  to 
Kooiali  no  more  of  a companion  than  Ken  way  in  a state  of  wrath. 
He  was  one  of  the  husbands  who,  conscious  of  having  but  a limited 
stock  of  interest  in  intellectual  subjects,  economically  keeps  whatever 
store  of  knowledge  he  may  possess  for  use  outside  his  domestic  circle. 
He  did  not  like  to  see  his  wile  read.  He  liked  her  to  be  at  his  beck 
and  call.  He  did  not  care  to  talk  about  books,  or  even  about  politics, 
except  from  the  personal  point  of  view.  A national  question  was  of 
no  vital  interest  to  him  in  itself,  though  in  the  legislative  chamber  or 
at  a Government  House  dinner-pjarty  he  c>uld  enlarge  very  glibly  on 
the  glory  and  honour  of  South  Britain.  He  could  always  be  intensely 
patriotic  when  that  was  to  his  own  advantage.  But  a question  as  to 
the  possibility  of  serving  himself  by  means  of  “back-stairs”  influence 
he  telt  to  be  of  real  importance,  and  Kooralrs  first  thrill  of  repugnance, 
firsr  bewildered  realization  of  the  gulf  between  them,  was  caused  by  her 
husband’s  revelation  of  himself  under  this  aspect. 

Koorali’s  short  married  life  had  been  a succession  of  painful  shocks 
and  struggles — vain  efforts  to  reconcile  the  inward  with  the  outward,  the 
ideal  and  the  real,  ending  at  last  in  a sort  of  dazed  acquiescence.  Sho 
had  been  ill  lor  a long  time  after  the  birth  of  her  second  boy,  and  body 
and  mind  reacted  upon  one  another.  She  got  into  a way  of  taking  life 
as  it  came,  and  of  not  reasoning  about  it.  She  began  to  believe  that 
she  was  really  stupid  and  wanting  in  common  sense,  as  Crichton  so  often 
told  her,  and  that  he  had  reasonable  cause  for  complaint.  She  had 
almost  lost  her  girlish  enthusiasm,  her  girlish  capacity  for  enjoyment. 
It  often  .-eemed  to  her  that  the  “ Little  Queen,”  the  romantic  child 
who  htd  had  such  firm  faith  in  nobilit\r,  goodness,  and  happiness,  had 
died  before  her  own  wedding  day.  It  was  all  a mistake.  Life  was 
cold  and  colourless.  Purity  of  motive,  high  aims,  love — except  the 
love  bi  tween  mother  and  child— were  all  illusions.  There  were  no 
thrilling  emotions,  save  such  as  thrilled  with  pain;  and  that  pain  so 
unheroic,  having  its  springs  in  what  was  so  poor  and  mean  and  petty! 

Thus  things  were,  when  Kenvvay,  alter  a short  period  of  comparative 
impecuniosiiy  and  of  fighting  on  the  Opposition  benches,  received  the 
appointment  of  Agent-General,  kiiddlemist’s  party  came  into  power, 
and  Middlemist  was  able  to  gratify  his  son-in-law’s  ambition  to  visit 
England,  at  ihe  expense  of  South  Britain.  But  Middlemist  was 
tottering,  and  Kenway  knew,  when  he  accepted  the  Agent-Generalship, 
that  his" own  tenure  of  office  might  be  a short  one.  Any  telegraphic 


“ SHALL  I GO  TO  SEE  HER t 


despatch  might  contain  the  news  of  his  downfall.  He  knew  already 
who  would  be  his  successor.  In  that  case,  failing  Morse’s  p tronage 
and  the  lucrative  English  appointment  on  which  he  n w depenneo,  it 
was  open  to  him  to  dragon  existence  in  London  or  the  country  as  I est 
he  mi  ht  on  the  smal  income  arising  from  Australian  im  estmt  nt*  that 
he  could  not  realize,  as  he  would  have  liked  to  no,  or  to  go  back  a ai  . 
to  ^outh  Britain,  and  once  more  iorce  I imse!f  into  place,  lie  had 
caloula  ed  risks,  and  was  prepared  to  play  a bold  game. 

So  they  had  “come  home/1  as  the  saying  is.  Only  such  an  entire 
change  of  scene  and  of  the  circumstances  of  her  1 fe  as  this  was  could 
have  aroused  Koorali  from  the  numbed  condition  into  which  she  had 
fallen.  And  the  springs  had  begun  to  move.  She  who  had  fancied 
that  everything  was  over  for  her  found  that  her  real  nature  was  only 
coming  into  play. 

Koorali  watched  with  the  closest  attention  all  that  she  saw  passing 
around  her.  The  England  which  she  was  looking  on  was  so  like,  and 
so  unlike,  ihe  England  of  her  dreams,  that  she  hardly  knew  whether 
she  was  pleased  or  disappointed.  In  some  ways  it  was  disappointing. 
It  seemed  to  her  like  a tapestry  of  which  the  colours  had  f uled.  There 
was  a want,  of  freshness.  The  society  Hie  ming'ed  with  appeared  to 
be  gracefully  outworn.  There  was  a lack  of  energy,  of  intere.-t,  of 
sympathy.  She  felt  at  first  not  merely  that  she  was  alone  in  the 
midst  of  it,  but  that  every  one  else  seemed  al-  ne  also.  She  grew  to 
like  Lady  Betty.  She  felt  tenderly  grateful  to  her;  but  she  could  not 
open  her  heart,  she  thought,  to  Lady  Betty.  It  appeared  to  her  some- 
how that  if  she  had  anything  to  say  which  was  long  in  the  tilling, 
Lady  Betty  would  not  be  able  quite  to  keep  up  her  interest  in  it. 
Lady  Betty  was  evidently  of  a sympathetic  nature,  but  the  sympathy 
had  nothing  very  particular  in  it;  she  was  able  to  put  herself  at 
once  into  general  sympathy  with  every  one ; but  it  did  not  get  much 
deeper  with  one  than  with  another. 

Of  the  men  of  her  circle  Koorali  liked  Lord  Arden  perhaps  be^t. 
She  felt  already  as  if  she  had  known  him  for  years.  He  evidently 
liked  her  too,  and  came  to  see  her  whenever  he  pleased. 

Morse  she  did  not  class  quite  with  other  men.  He  seemed  to  belong 
to  her  old  life — to  her  dreamy  girlhood,  in  regard  to  him,  it  was  not 
a mere  question  of  liking ; the  sense  of  companionship  with  him  was 
too  strong.  She  felt  for  him  the  warmest  admiration.  He  had  not 
disappointed  her.  He  was  exactly  what  she  would  have  wished  him 
to  be.  He  was  strong,  he  was  brave,  he  was  independent,  lie  K«d 
evidently  a heart  full  of  generous  human  feeling.  He  seemed  to 
Kooiali’s  enthusiasm  a man  to  lead  a state ; to  lead  a nut  on.  She 
admired  his  complete  self-possession  ; his  undisturbed  calmness.  The 
old  Napoleonic  idea  about  him  came  back  to  her  mind  now  and  then  ; 
but  she  did  not  now  think  him  like  Napoleon.  He  seemed  tar  too 
unselfish;  too  much  of  a patriot.  She  was  in  truth  quite  ready  to 
make  a hero  of  Morse;  all  the  more  so  as  his  sweet  composed  manner 
towards  herself,  always  friendly  and  sympathetic,  was  never  demons tra- 


120 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .’ 


tivo,  and  though  occasionally  he  showed  her  that  he  in  his  turn  con- 
sidered her  as  removed  from  the  crowd,  he  left  her  free  to  think  anything 
she  liked  about  him.  She  might  have  been  afraid  to  allow  herself  to 
idealize  other  men  ; hut  for  Morse  it  did  not  matter.  She  would  not 
let  herself  think  it  mattered.  He  seemed  to  stand  high  above  women, 
and  apart  from  them  somehow — such  at  least  were  Koorali’s  ideas — 
it  was  nothing  more  than  a sort  of  duty  that  a woman  should  look 
up  to  him  with  admiration.  She  understood  him  so  well,  she  thought. 
He  liked  her;  that  was  clear.  It  was  a sort  of  tacit  understanding 
between  them  that  she  was  to  him  a link  with  the  past-  -a  past  of 
unfulfilled  dreams,  perhaps,  like  her  own  ; and  she  was  gratified  by 
the  knowledge.  She  had  been  so  long  misprized  in  a certain  sense, 
that  it  was  the  lifting  up  of  her  self-respect  again  out  of  the  worldly 
mire  when  a man  like  Sandham  Morse  showed  that  he  felt  respect  for 
her. 

On  the  whole  Koorali  was  now  almost  happy.  She  enjoyed  the 
pageant,  even  when  it  sometimes  disappointed  her ; though  she  was 
galled  now  and  then  by  the  sense  of  a false  position,  and  this  most 
when  in  Crichton’s  company.  It  was,  nevertheless,  delightful  to  her 
to  mix  with  all  these  bright  clever  men  and  women,  and  to  be  accepted 
as  an  equal,  even  regarded  as  a favourite  among  them.  She  had  not 
been  so  happy  before  since  her  marriage.  Her  husband  and  she  were 
getting  on  much  better  now  than  had  been  their  way  for  long  before. 
He  left  her  more  alune,  though,  while  she  was  unaware  of  it,  he 
watched  her  closely.  He  felt  that  he  had  struck  a wrong  chord  in 
their  conversation  upon  the  day  of  the  Federation  debate  ; and  for  the 
present  threw  out  no  more  insinuations  in  regard  to  Lord  Coulmont  or 
other  influential  admirers.  He  saw  that  he  had  shocked  her.  This 
would  under  ordinary  circumstances  have  given  him  no  uneasiness  ; 
but  he  was  careful  not  to  do  so  further,  lest  his  plans  about  Morse 
might  receive  a check.  So  things  were  going  smoothly  on  the  whole ; 
and  he  was  less  irritable.  His  debts  did  not  press  so  heavily  upon 
him.  The  bank  had  refused  to  advance  the  sum  he  required,  and  he 
had  been  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  a money-lender.  He  had  tried 
to  get  a loan  out  of  Eustace,  who  had  remained  languidly  impervious 
to  hints.  Zenobia,  however,  having  got  an  inkling  of  his  embarrass- 
ment, sent  him  in  the  prettiest  manner  a cheque  for  several  hundreds. 
Zenobia  said  not  a word  of  this  to  Koorali,  or  any  one  else,  nor  did 
Crichton.  His  manner  to  his  sister-in-law  changed  very  much.  He 
treated  her  to  a style  of  exuberant  friendliness;  but  the  little  trans- 
action made  no  difference  in  the  contempt  he  expressed  for  her  when 
his  remarks  were  not  likely  to  reach  her  ears. 

Koorali  thought  he  was  greatly  improving ; she  even  began  to  ask 
herself  generously  whether  she  had  not  been  most  in  fault  ali  through. 
Yes;  she  was  almost  happy. 

Morse’s  feelings  towards  Koorrili  were  curiously  compounded.  Her 
intuition  concerning  them  was  a true  one.  They  were  perfumed  by 
a memory  of  youth ; they  had  in  them  the  recollection  of  the  “ divine 


SHALL  1 GO  TO  SEE  HER f 


121 


feelings  that  die  in  youth’s  brief  morn,”  as  Shelley  says.  KocrMi’s  was 
a living  form  from  a bright  time  when  life  was  still  in  its  opening  for 
him.  Besides  this  he  admired  her  much.  He  was  in  a strange, 
half-unconscious  way  in  sympathy  with  her;  he  was  pleased  with  her 
frank  outspoken  confidence  in  him  and  admiration  for  him;  and  he 
knew  well  that  she  was  not  happy.  Morse  was  a man  of  the  world, 
and  would  have  understood,  of  course,  if  he  had  put  the  question  to 
himself,  that  it  would  not  do  for  him  to  admire  this  beautiful  young 
Australian  woman  too  much,  or  to  be  with  her  except  in  the  most 
ordinary  and  commonplace  sort  of  way.  But  he  had  not  the  least 
inclination  to  pay  her  any  marked  attention  of  the  kind  that  society 
comments  upon.  He  was  sincerely  anxious  to  make  her  time  in 
London  as  pleasant  as  possible  fur  her,  and  he  was  glad  for  her  sake  to 
court  the  c<  mpanionship  of  her  husband.  He  had  a strong  idea  that 
they  did  not  get  on  very  well  together,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  a 
woman’s  respect  for  her  husband  is  often  increased  by  the  respect 
which  others  show  to  him.  So  Morse  was  very  attentive  to  Crichton 
Kenway,  whom  all  the  while  he  did  not  greatly  like.  But  Kenway 
had  impressed  him  with  a sense  of  capacity  and  fitness,  and  Morse 
often  thought  that  if  ever  he  got  a chance  of  making  such  an  appoint- 
ment, Ken  way  would  be  a remarkably  good  man  for  some  permanent 
place  in  connection  with  the  colonies. 

Is  a prudent,  well-meaning  man,  who  is  no  longer  young,  bound  to 
avoid  the  company  of  a married  woman  the  moment  he  begins  to  feel 
any  special  interest  in  her,  the  moment  that  she  seems  to  take  an 
especial  interest  in  him  ? Can  there  be  no  friendship  between  a woman 
and  a man  ? Is  it  all  the  “ fire  and  tow  ” principle  in  which  Crichton 
Ken  way  faithfully  believed?  Morse  certainly  was  not  a man  to 
believe  naturally  in  this  ignoble  doctrine.  He  had  no  feeling  towards 
KoorMi,  as  yet,  which  might  not  have  been  laid  bare  to  Lady  Betty, 
and  have  had  Lady  Betty’s  cordial  approval  and  sympathy.  Still, 
after  the  evening  on  the  terrace,  he  had  some  little  doubt  now  and 
then  as  to  whether  he  ought  to  go  and  see  Koorali  at  her  house  so 
frequently,  even  when  sometimes  Lady  Betty  sugges’ed  the  visit. 
But  the  chief  reason  for  his  doubt  was  not  because  he  was  afiaid  of 
falling  in  love  with  Koorali,  or  of  her  falling  in  love  with  him. 
About  this  latter  possibility  he  never  thought  at  all ; only  he  asked 
himself  whether  it  would  be  well  to  get  into  a habit  of  calling  on 
Koorali  and  to  encourage  his  interest  in  her,  seeing  that  she  might 
go  back  to  the  colonies  again,  and  then  he  should  miss  her,  and  should 
have  put  on  himself  a needless  pain.  Of  course,  if  her  husband  could 
get  a permanent  appointment,  he  and  she  would  stay  in  London. 
But,  then,  would  it  be  well  to  admit  that  idea  into  his  mind  ? Would 
it  be  well  to  allow  himself  to  think  that  a permanent  place  for  Mrs. 
Kenway’s  husband  w’ould  keep  Mrs.  Kenway  in  London,  and  enable 
him  to  call  and  have  a talk  with  her  every  now  and  then? 

“ Shall  I go  to  see  her ; shall  I not  go  ? ” Morse  was  one  day  asking 
of  himself.  Why  should  he  not  go  ? he  thought;  was  it  not  almost  an 
9 


122 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


offence  to  her  even  to  hesitate,  to  raise  any  question  on  the  subject  ? 
She  was  a dear  friend ; why  allow  such  profanation  to  the  sincerity 
and  sacredness  of  their  friendship  as  was  implied  even  in  the  momen- 
tary doubt  whether  he  would  not  do  belter  by  keeping  away  from  her? 
And  yet;  and  yet 

While  he  was  thinking,  something  oddly  decided  for  him.  Lady 
Betty  brought  a young  and  enthusiastic  girl  of  eighteen,  a friend  of 
hers,  just  come  out,  to  see  Morse.  Morse  had  not  met  her  before  since 
she  was  a child.  He  had  grown  to  be  a great  man  in  her  estimation, 
and  w^as  indeed  her  especial  political  hero.  When  they  had  talked  for 
some  time,  and  she  was  going,  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  pretty 
young  enthusiast  suddenly  exclaimed,  “Oh,  Lady  Betty — please — mav 
I kiss  him  ? ” 

“ My  dear  child,  kiss  him  by  all  means,”  Lady  Betty  replied,  much, 
amused  and  delighted.  So  the  girl  kissed  him,  blushing  crimson  at 
her  own  audacious  impulse. 

Now,  what  had  this  pleasant  little  incident  to  do  with  Koorali? 
Just  this  much.  “Come,”  Morse  said  to  himself,  “that  settles  it.  I 
am  no  longer  anything  but  an  elderly  man.  He  whom  pretty  girls 
offer  to  kiss  is  beyond  the  time  of  scandal.  I am  growing  old. 
Nothing  could  make  this  more  clear  to  my  mind  than  that  volunteer 
kiss.  I may  go  and  see  any  woman ; it  does  not  matter  now.” 


CHAPTER  XV. 

KENWAY  ACTS  THE  HERO. 

One  morning,  a few  days  before  Goodwood,  Crichton  Ken  way  came 
into  his  wife’s  room  while  she  was  dressing.  She  had  risen  rather  late 
after  a ball.  He  vras  pale  wdth  anger  and  anxiety.  He  held  a news- 
paper in  his  hand,  and  without  preface  or  comment,  except  a low 
muttered  oath,  read  aloud  a telegram  from  Australia.  It  was  to  the 
effect  that  the  legislative  chamber  of  South  Britain  had  passed  a 
vote  of  w'ant  of  confidence  in  the  Min  diem  ist  Government,  that  Mr. 
Middlemist  ha  1 resigned,  and  that  Sir  James  Burgess,  chief  of  the 
Opposition  and  of  the  anti-squatting  party,  had  formed  a Ministry. 

Crichton’s  calmness  did  not  last  long.  Koorali  had  presently  to 
listen  to  a low  torrent  of  irrational  abuse  directed  against  her  lather, 
who  “might  have  held  on  a little  longer;”  against  Australian  corrupt 
practices,  against  corrupt  English  practices,  against  democracy  abroad 
and  conservatism  at  home,  against  the  tardy  elections,  jingoism,  Morse. 

Koorali’s  face  whitened.  It  has  been  said  that  Crichton  Kenway 
could  swrear  so  as  to  hit  hard  without  lifting  his  voice. 

“What  has  Mr.  Morse  to  do  with  it?”  she  asked,  her  spirit  rising. 

“Just  this,  as  you  know  very  well,  only  it  suits  you  to  play  the 
‘defile  me  not*  part.  He  has  promised  me  an  appointment  if  he 
comes  into  power ; and  my  future— and  yours — depends  upon  how  he 


KEN  WAY  ACTS  THE  HERO. 


123 

swims  with  the  tide — upon  whether  he  becomes  Prime  Minister  or 
not.” 

“ He  will  not  swim  with  the  tide,”  Koorali  answered,  her  eyes 
giving  out  a proud  little  flash.  “ He  will  breast  it.” 

“You  think  so?”  exclaimed  Crichton  in  a different  tone.  “He 
talks  to  you  of  his  prospects — of  what  is  going  on  behind  the  scenes. 
I know  that  he  often  writes  to  you  from  the  House.  You  can  give  a 
guess  as  to  his  chances  of  coming  in?  He  believes  himself  safe,  then?” 

Koorali  looked  at  her  husband  with  the  faintest  expression  of  con- 
tempt on  her  face.  It  was  mingled  with  vague  alarm. 

“ I don’t  understand  you,  Crichton.  It  pains  me  to  hear  you  speak 
in  that  way,  for  you  cannot  really  mean  it.  I am  very  sorry  that  you 
are  so  distressed  and  angry.  I know  that  it  is  a serious  matter  for  us ; 
but  for  a long  time  we  have  had  to  face  the  thought  of  it ; we  knew 
that  it  was  coming.” 

“ It  has  come  at  a confoundedly  inconvenient  time,”  returned  Ken- 
way. “ Three  months  hence  it  would  have  mattered  less.  How  are 
we  to  carry  on  now  ? I can  tell  you  that  your  London  life  has  come 
to  an  end.” 

“ We  might  live  at  the  Grey  Manor,”  said  Koorali.  “ It  could  not 
cost  so  much  there,  and  we  have  still  our  own  money* — from  Australia.” 

“ Which  will  go  a long  way — in  paying  interest  to  the  Jews— in. 
keeping  up  a staff  of  servants,  hunters,  and  all  that.  You  don’t  sup- 
pose that  I am  going  to  live  like  a beggarly  parson,  within  two  miles 
of  my  younger  brother  and — the  family  estate — driving  a one-horse 
trap,  with  a parlour-maid  to  wait,  and  a groom  taken  out  of  the 
cabbage  garden  ? ” 

Koorali  was  silent. 

“Well,”  said  Kenway,  “you  haven’t  answered  mv  question.  I 
have  a strong  notion  that  you  know  something  of  Morse’s  plans.  Does 
he  consider  himself  safe  ? ” 

“ Safe?  ” Koorali  echoed.  “ I don’t  know  what  you  are  aiming  at, 
Crichton.  I don’t  think  I want  to  know.  Mr.  Morse  must  always  be 
safe,  for  he  will  never  act  against  his  convictions  of  what  is  right  and 
best  for  England,  I am  sure  of  that.  As  for  his  chance  of  being  Prime 
Minister,  how  should  I know  what  he  thinks?  He  does  talk  tome 
sometimes  of  politics — I am  proud  that  he  does  not  think  me  too 
stupid  to  sympathize  with  his  aims — but  not  in  that  sort  of  personal 
way.  What  does  office  matter  to  him  ? And  if  he  did  tell  me  the 
secrets  of  his  party,  should  I be  likely  to  betray  them,  even  to  my 
husband?”  There  was  an  amount  of  scorn  in  Koorali’s  tone.  “Mr. 
Morse  will  not  join  the  war  party  because  we  wish  to  stay  in  England, 
or  because  he  has  promised  you  an  appointment  if  he  gets  into  power. 
But  1 can’t  quite  think  that  is  so.”  Her  eyes  met  Kenway’s  steadily. 
“ Has  he  promised  you  an  appointment,  Crichton  ? ” 

“ It  is  an  understanding,”  replied  Crichton  sullenly.  “ You  are  a 
fool  to  suppose  that  public  men  ever  commit  themselves.  A word  or 
two  conveys  a great  deal.  Such  things  are  generally  understood.” 


124 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .J 


KoorMi  did  not  answer.  She  got  up  from  where  she  had  been 
seated  before  the  toilet  table.  She  had  dismissed  her  maid  upon 
Crichton’s  entrance,  and  had  gone  on  herself  with  the  coiling  of  her 
hair  round  her  sleek  little  head.  It  suddenly  struck  Crichton  that  his 
wife  looked  particularly  well  in  the  soft  white  cashmere  robe  she  wore, 
with  its  delicate  frills  and  trimming  of  lace.  There  came  into  his  face 
a look  which  she  had  seen  there  more  than  once  lately,  and  which 
gave  her  a feeling  of  repulsion,  she  knew  not  why,  for  she  would  not 
let  herself  try  to  trace  the  workings  of  his  mind.  She  saw  the  look 
now,  reflected  in  the  glass  before  her. 

“ What  do  you  call  that  thing  you’ve  got  on?  ” he  said.  “ A kind 
of  tea-grown,  isn’t  it?  Anyhow,  it’s  very  becoming.  You  should 
wear  something  like  it  next  time  Morse  comes  to  see  you.  What  have 
I said  to  shock  your  sensitive  nerves  ? Ladies  wear  tea-gowns,  don’t 
they  ? ” 

Her  large  dark  eyes,  full  of  trouble  and  indignant  appeal,  which 
were  turned  quickly  upon  him,  startled  him.  Her  lips  were  quivering, 
and  he  saw  that  she  was  trembling.  A horrible  sensation  of  insecurity, 
of  utter  loneliness,  of  revolt  had  come  over  her.  She  could  not  coin- 
mand  herself. 

“ Koorali,  what  is  the  matter  ? ” he  exclaimed. 

She  had  flung  herself  upon  the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  with 
her  arms  thrown  over  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  her  face  buried  in 
them,  was  shaking  with  suppressed  sobs.  She  did  not  reply,  and  the 
trembling  grew  more  violent.  Crichton  was  a little  alarmed.  It  was 
not  like  Koorali  to  lose  self-control  completely. 

He  went  to  her  and  tried  to  soothe  her,  showing  some  genuine 
anxiety.  “ Come,  don’t  give  way  like  this.  I didn’t  mean  to  frighten 
you  about  things.  Ii’s  a bad  look-out  for  us  just  now,  but  we  shall 
pull  through  all  right.  The  season  is  over,  luckily,  and  we  should  go 
down  to  the  Grey  Manor  anyhow.  And  I can’t  be  kicked  out  till  the 
other  man  comes.  Perhaps  by  that  time  Morse  will  be  in,  a nd  I shall 
be  a deuced  sight  better  off  than  if  I were  hanging  at  the  heels  of  a 
colonial  Government.  Don’t  cry.  I hate  it.  Haven’t  you  got  more 
pluck  ? ” 

His  remonstrances  brought  no  answer  in  words,  but  her  trembling 
abated  a little. 

“ I know  what  it  is,”  continued  Crichton.  “ You  are  hysterical  and 
overdone  with  all  the  going  out.  If  you  keep  quiet  for  a bit  you  will 
be  better.  Lie  down,  and  let  me  put  a shawl  over  you.” 

He  awkwardly  tried  to  alter  her  position.  She  made  a motion  of 
entreaty  that  he  would  leave  her.  He  w'ent  away  with  an  angry 
protest.  When  he  came  back  a little  later  she  wras  sitting  up,  and 
was  tolerably  composed.  She  got  up  as  he  entered. 

“ Thank  you,”  she  said.  “ I am  better  now,  I am  sorry  to  have 
made  a scene.  It  isn’t  my  way,  is  it  ? But  you  are  right ; I am 
overdone  with  too  much  going  out.  I shall  be  myself  again  presently.” 

S^e  made  no  allusion  to  their  conversation  or  to  the  misfortune 


KENWAY  ACTS  THE  HERO. 


125 

which  had  befallen  them,  nor  did  he.  After  a few  moments  he  left 
her  again.  She  heard  him  calling  to  Lance,  who  was  his  favourite,  to 
come  down  and  amuse  him  whilst  he  breakfasted.  Lance  was  to  his 
father  something  between  a poodle  and  a court  jester.  And  little 
Miles  stole  in  “ to  see  beautiful  mamma  dressed.”  He  knew  his  father 
did  not  want  him. 

When  Morse  came  to  see  Koorali  that  afternoon,  he  saw  that  she 
was  anxious  and  that  something  had  occurred  to  trouble  her.  He 
guessed  what  it  was,  for  he  had  read  the  telegram  from  South  Britain 
that  morning. 

He  did  not  say  anything  about  it  to  Koorali;  he  did  not  know 
whether  she  would  care  to  talk  about  it.  He  had  an  instinctive 
impression  that  the  best  way  to  get  a sensitive  woman  out  of  a feeling 
of  her  own  troubles  is  to  tell  her  of  the  troubles  of  others,  and  he 
therefore  started  off  at  once  in  a half-jest  whole-earnest  dissertation  on 
the  difficulties  that  were  coming  over  and  clouding  his  own  path  in 
politics.  The  country  was  about  to  be  swept  away  by  the  war-passion, 
he  told  her.  No  influence,  he  feared,  could  stand  up  against  it ; but  he 
was  going  to  try  his  best.  He  would  rather  give  up  public  life  alto- 
gether, he  declared,  than  have  anything  to  do  with  countenancing  or 
sanctioning  this  war.  But  he  meant  to  make  a good  fight  of  it  before 
he  gave  up  public  life. 

“ Perhaps  if  you  stay  in  England  some  little  time  longer,  Mrs.  Ken- 
way, you  may  see  me  the  most  unpopular  man  in  the  country.” 

“But  you  won’t  mind  that?”  she  said,  with  lighting  eyes,  and  for 
getting  for  the  moment  all  about  South  Britain. 

“I  shan’t  like  it,”  Morse  replied.  “We  none  of  us  like  to  be 
unpopular  ; but  I shall  go  on  all  the  same.” 

“Yes,  I know,”  Koorali  said.  “You  would  go  on  all  the  same.” 

Morse  smiled.  “ I)o  you  know,”  he  said,  “ that  there  are  people  who 
know  me,  and  pretty  well  too,  and  who  say  that  I shall  not  go  on  all  the 
same  ? I have  been  a very  popular  man,  and  I enjoy  popularity  and 
power,  and  I shall  perhaps  have  a great  chance  soon  put  in  my  way ” 

“ After  the  elections  ? ” 

“Yts;  after  the  elections.  I see  you  are  beginning  to  understand 
all  about  our  affairs.  Quite  so ; after  the  elections.  Then  they  say 
that  I will  accept  my  great  chances  and  forget  my  theories  about  the 
war.  Some  people  who  know  me  pretty  well  say  that  of  me.” 

She  looked  at  him  straightly. 

“To  know  one  pretty  well  is  just  not  to  know  one  at  all.  I know 
you  won’t  change.” 

They  were  standing  near  each  other.  He  had  risen  to  go.  Impul- 
sively Koorali  put  out  her  hand.  He  took  it  in  his  for  a moment. 

“ Thank  you,”  he  said  quietly. 

Something  in  his  tone  made  her  eyes  fall,  and  she  withdrew  her 
hand.  She  began  to  fear  she  had  said  too  much  about  him,  had 
claimed  too  much  for  herself.  Just  at  that  moment,  however,  her 
husband  came  in. 


126 


u THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


Kenway  as  he  entered  sent  a keen  glance  at  Morse  and  at  her. 
Then  he  advanced  with  elastic  step  and  a sort  of  cheery  defiance  in 
his  bright,  ever-moving  eyes. 

“Chucked  again!”  he  said.  “You’ve  heard  the  news,  of  course? 
We’re  out  on  the  world  again,  Koorali  and  1.” 

“ Yes,  i have  heard  the  news,”  Morse  said.  “ I didn’t  like  to  speak 
to  Mrs.  Ken  way  about  it.  I thought  perhaps  she  would  rather  I 
didn’t.  So  I have  been  telling  her  of  my  own  troubles.” 

“Oh,  Koorali  is  a plucky  little  woman  ; she  won’t  mind,  /don’t 
mind.  We’ve  been  through  worse  things  before,  haven’t  we,  girl?  I 
know  I have  plenty  of  capacity  and  courage  and  all  that,  and  I shall 
make  a way  for  myself  here  or  there — here,  I think.  We  shall  be  all 
right.  It’s  a facer  for  the  moment;  but  one  comes  up  smiling  and 
ready  for  another  round.  People  talk  of  ruin  staring  them  in  the  face. 
I have  always  found  that  if  you  only  stare  boldly  back  you  can  put 
ruin  out  of  countenance.  I have  done  it  before,  and  I mean  to  do  it 
again.  So  that’s  all  about  that  ! ” 

Ken  way  put  down  on  the  table  a little  packet  of  papers  with  a 
determined,  business-like  air.  He  placed  himself  against  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  stood,  his  long  neck  upreared,  looking  at  Morse  as  if  ready 
for  any  fate.  He  played  his  part  well,  and  Morse  was  impressed. 

Koorali  looked  up  at  him  with  a certain  wonder.  After  all,  was  there 
not  something  brave,  manly,  admirable  about  him  ? She  had  surely 
not  done  him  full  justice.  She  found  her  eyes  growing  moist  at  the 
thought,  in  the  hope  that  she  really  could  admire  him.  What  did  it 
matter  if  they  lost  everything,  so  long  as  the  very  loss  itself  brought 
out  what  was  best  in  him?  Was  not  that  to  gain  and  not  to  lose? 
“ The  moment  Mr.  Morse  goes,”  she  said  to  herself,  “ I’ll  kiss  him ! ” 

“ You  take  it  pluckily,”  Morse  said,  with  a smile.  “ But  you  are 
really  quite  right ; you  have  nothing  to  fear.  You  have  talents,  and 
you  have  friends.  I can  speak  for  one  friend,  if  he  should  ever  have 
anything  in  his  power.” 

Koorali  cast  a grateful  glance  at  Morse,  and  then  felt  a little  abashed 
somehow,  and  feared  she  might  be  misunderstood.  Her  gratefulness 
was  for  Morse’s  appreciation  of  her  husband’s  courage-  and  capacity,  and 
not  at  ail  for  his  promise  to  befriend  them.  She  would  rather,  some- 
how, that  they  fought  their  battle  for  themselves,  or  with  the  help  of 
some  of  those  on  whose  friendship  Ken  way  had  older  and  stronger  and 
other  claims.  And  then  it  struck  her  that  when  she  had  doubted  her 
husband’s  account  of  Morse’s  implied  intention  to  get  him  an  appoint- 
ment, she  had  wronged  Crichton  a little,  and  she  felt  still  further 
remorseful. 

When  Morse  was  gone,  Koorali  was  true  to  her  purpose.  She  went 
up  to  Ken  way,  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  called  him  tenderly,  “my 
husband,”  and  kissed  him.  If  at  that  touching  and  tender  moment 
in  her  history  Crichton  Kenway  could  only  have  understood  the  true 
meaning  of  that  kiss  ; of  the  little  it  asked  for,  the  much  it  promised ; 
the  meaning  of  the  words  that  called  him  her  husband,  and  thus 


KENWAY  ACTS  THE  HERO . 


127 


offered  a new  and  an  abiding  union  of  heart  and  faith  and  life ; if  lie 
could  have  understood  what  that  new  offer  of  a wife’s  devotion  meant ; 
and  if  he  could  have  appreciated  all  and  accepted  all — there  would  be 
but  little  to  tell  about  the  rest  of  these  two  lives  which  could  interest 
the  reader  of  fiction.  But  Kenway  looked  surprised,  incredulous; 
then  returned  her  kiss  with  interest,  piled  up  lavishly  in  numbers  and 
in  warmth,  until  Koorali  actually  felt  compelled  to  disengage  herself 
from  his  arms,  and  he  said — 

“ Why,  Koorali,  I do  declare  you  are  a good  pirl  after  all,  and  T do 
believe  you  care  about  me.  I do  believe  we  shall  get  on  well  together. 

I declare  I feel  quite  in  love  with  you  ! ” 

“Oh,  let  us  get  on  well  together/’  she  said  fervently.  “I  hope  and 
pray  that  we  may;  I think  we  shall,  now.  I am  glad  you  take  all 
this  so  well,  Crichton.” 

“ Yes ; I think  I did  that  well,  Koorali,”  he  said  in  the  tone  of  a man 
who  begins  to  feel  that  he  may  be  confidential.  “ I think  I’ve  got 
Morse ; I am  sure  of  it.  There  was  a stroke  of  genius  in  that,” 

“ A stroke  of  genius  in  what,  Crichton  ? ” 

“ Well,  you  know,  I saw  at  once  that  Morse  is  just  the  sort  of  fellow 
who  is  greatly  taken  by  pluck  and  energy  and  a stout  stand-up  against 
fortune  and  odds  and  so  forth;  and  I put  myself  in  position  accord- 
ingly. It  took  him  at  once,  didn’t  it  ? ” he  asked  triumphantly  ; “ and 
I know  I can  count  on  him  now.  He’ll  stand  by  me.  He  would  have 
cared  nothing  about  me  if  I had  let  him  see  that  I was  down  in  the 
mouth.  We  shall  be  all  right,  Kooiali ; you’ll  see;  you’ll  find.” 

“ I hope  so,”  Koorali  said  in  a melancholy,  faltering  tone.  The  note 
of  distrust  was  sounded  again.  “I  hope  we  shall  be  all  right.” 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

“In  our  lives,  I mean;  you  and  I.  In  our  ways  to  each  other;  in 
our  feelings,”  Koorali  explained. 

“ Oh  yes ; we  shall  be  all  right  enough,”  he  said  carelessly. 

Koorali’s  spirits  sank ; her  mind  misgave  her. 

******* 

The  season  was  drawing  to  a close.  Yet  a little,  and  the  light  on 
the  pinnacle  of  the  Clock  Tower  would  cease  to  shine  of  nights  over 
London.  Perhaps  there  may  have  been  some  cynical  persons  who 
held  that  the  lantern  of  the  light  so  soon  to  be  put  out  was  a symbol 
of  the  Parliament  so  soon  also  to  be  put  out ; being  showy,  far-shining, 
and  empty.  London  itself  might  then  be  compared,  by  some  fanciful 
person,  to  the  Cyclops  in  Virgil — 

“Monstrum  informe,  ingens,  cui  lumen  ademptum.” 

“A  monster,  shapeless,  huge,  whose  light  had  been  put  out.” 

The  last  Sandowm  meeting  had  taken  place,  and  the  summer 
toilettes,  their  first  freshness  gone,  and  the  tired  look  on  the  faces  of 
their  wearers,  had  somehow  given  to  the  crowded  slope  the  appearance 
of  a garden  in  which  the  flowers  were  overblown  and  drooping.  Good- 
wood  was  over,  too.  There  wTas  a suggestion  of  satiety  about  London 


128 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.” 


— satiety  of  pleasure  and  excitement.  Even  a nine  days’  wonder,  in 
the  shape  of  a great  fashionable  political  scandal  which  was  flashed 
over  Europe,  failed  here  to  stimulate  jaded  appetites  to  any  remarkable 
activity.  London — indeed,  England — seemed  to  have  drawn  a long, 
deep  breath ; to  be  waiting  for  greater  excitement  still.  All  who  could 
leave  town  had  already  gone.  Some  of  the  great  theatres  were  closed; 
others  were  still  kept  open  for  apparently  no  other  purpose  than  to 
enable  aspiring  Hamlets  from  the  country  and  ambitious  Juliets  from 
amateur  theatricals  at  the  West  End  to  exhibit  themselves  to  select 
circles  of  invited  friends  in  the  ghastly  light  of  an  afternoon  perfor- 
mance. Editors  of  papers  were  taking  their  holidays,  and  carrying,  as 
Emerson  says,  their  giants  along  with  them ; in  other  words,  having 
their  newspapers  always  on  their  minds,  longing  to  see  the  newspapers 
everywhere  first  thing,  and  yet  dreading  to  look  at  the  journals  because 
of  the  possible  blunders  made  in  their  absence.  Fashionable  lady 
novelists,  Lady  Deveril  among  them,  were  seeking  fresh  breath  of 
inspiration  at  Cowes  and  Hyde.  Fashionable  preachers  had  gone  to 
preach  to  select  British  audiences  in  foreign  cities.  Fashionable 
doctors  were  off  to  recruit  their  jaded  and  delicate  nerves  and  to  talk 
scandal  in  the  Engadine.  The  painters  were  scattering  everywhere, 
from  the  Crinan  Canal  to  the  land  of  the  midnight  sun.  Later  on, 
those  who  deal  in  Oriental  subjects,  and  whose  dusky  Eastern  beauties 
and  Egyptian  sunsets,  with  the  picturesque  Arab  and  the  lean  camel 
in  the  foreground,  are  institutions  as  fixed  as  the  Royal  Academy 
itself,  will  be  found  in  lazy  dahabeahs  on  the  Nile,  or  by  the  Jaffa 
Gate  of  Jerusalem.  Later  on,  everything  will  have  changed  again. 
The  wheel  will  be  turned  and  the  kaleidoscope  will  have  had  another 
shake.  But  now  the  interval  was  one  of  expectancy  and  transition. 
The  last  sands  of  the  season  were  running  out. 

London  began  to  remind  one  oddly  of  an  old-fashioned  illumination 
iu  its  expiring  hour,  most  of  the  lamps  gone  out,  and  those  that  still 
burned  flickering  faintly  into  decay.  “ Ah,  surely,”  says  Byron, 
“ nothing  dies  but  something  mourns,”  and  no  doubt  there  were  hearts 
that  mourned  over  the  dying  season.  Girls,  whose  first  season  it  was, 
mourned  over  it  because  they  loved  the  excitement  of  the  balls  and 
parties,  and  were  sorry  that  the  fun  was  at  an  end.  Girls  who  had 
seen  many  seasons  mourned  still  more  bitterly  because  of  the  pro- 
posals which  had  not  been  made,  and  the  sad  inexorable  lapse  of  time, 
and  the  inward  conviction  that  their  friends  w~ere  counting  their  years 
and  wondering  whether  they  would  never  get  married,  or  worse  still, 
wondering  whether  they  would  ever  get  married.  Many  a member  of 
Parliament  lamented  the  decay  of  the  season,  because  its  close  must  be 
followed  by  the  general  election,  and  he  knew  only  too  well  that  an 
unappreciative  constituency  would  put  some  other  man  in  his  place. 
Tender  sentimental  regrets  were  thrown  back  on  the  season  by  other 
men  and  women  for  other  causes,  as  one  throws  kindly  flowers  on 
a grave.  Truly  every  season  is  a grave  of  deep  hopes  and  ambitions, 
of  affections  that  pined  and  withered,  and  of  ruined  chances;  but  it  is 


“ COO-EE /” 


129 

also  green  with  fresh  grass  springing  up,  and  gives  the  piomise  of  new 
flowers. 

Morse  was  still  in  town,  waiting  till  Parliament  should  be  dissolved. 
Lady  Betty  was  not  with  him — would  not  be  with  him  for  some 
weeks  to  com'1.  She  was  in  attendance  upon  her  father,  who  had  been 
ordered  to  Iiomburg,  and  Lord  Germilion’s  health  was  perhaps  a 
happy  plea  for  Lady  Betty.  Homburg  was  very  gay  that  season. 
Some  of  her  favourite  Royalties  were  there,  and  there  were  to  be  races 
of  exceptional  interest,  and,  later  on,  a roy al  wedding  in  one  of  the 
German  capitals. 

Crichton  Ken  way  and  Koorali  were  at  the  Grey  Manor — or  rather 
Koorali  was  there,  with  her  children,  for  Crichton  had  accepted  an 
invitation  to  shoot  with  some  bachelor  friends  in  Scotland. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

“ COO-EE  ! ” 

The  Grey  Manor  was  a quaint  old  house,  part  of  which  had  been 
built  in  the  Tudors’  time,  and  part  in  that  of  the  Georges.  Like 
most  of  the  old  houses  in  the  Midlands,  it  wras  built  with  stone  of 
a wan  sort  of  grey,  which  had  brown  veins  streaking  through  it,  and 
patches  of  reddish  lichen  clinging  here  and  there,  and  the  oldest  part 
was  almost  covered  with  ivy,  which  spread  tendrils  across  the  small 
mullioned  windows — picturesque  in  themselves,  with  their  queer  little 
panes  of  thick  glass  sunk  in  lead  and  curious  iron  hasps  and  fastenings 
— and  over  the  tiled  weather-stained  roof  and  twisted  chimneys.  This 
oldest  part  consisted  mainly  of  a long  low  hall,  with  massive  oak 
doors  facing  each  other,  and  a row  of  bedrooms  above.  When  both 
doors  were  open,  one  looked  straight  through  the  house  from  back  to 
front.  The  Georgian  bit  was  an  addition  of  four  lofty  rooms,  with 
the  tall  windows  that  belonged  to  that  style  of  architecture,  stuck  on 
at  right  angles  to  the  narrow  gabled  building  and  irregular  roof-top. 
The  house  was  quite  small,  and  could  hardly  pretend  to  the  title  of 
Manor.  It  had  been  a manor-house  once,  but  for  years  and  years  had 
been  tenanted  by  generations  of  farmers,  who  had  cultivated  the  fields 
all  round  it.  Now  it  had  been  bought  by  some  speculative  person  in 
a neighbouring  county.  A bailiff  occupied  a cottage  near  the  farm 
buildings,  and  the  Grey  Manor,  not  sufficiently  commodious  or  well- 
situated  to  be  rented  by  a family  of  means,  was  usually  let  as  a hunt- 
ing-box, and  as  such  had  been  taken  by  Crichton  Kenway. 

It  stood  at  the  end  of  a sloping  avenue  of  gnarled  and  half-dead 
beeches,  on  a raised  terrace  which  overlooked  a flat  stretch  of  meadows, 
banked  by  rising  ground.  These  uplands  were  laid  out  in  grass  and 
corn,  and  joined  the  horizon  line,  except  where  it  was  broken  by  the 
tall  chimney  of  an  iron  foundry  and  two  straight  rows  of  poplars 
flanking  a distant  farmhouse.  The  river  Lynde  ran  flush  with  its 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


1 30 

sedgy  banks  down  the  valley — a narrow  stream,  forking  a little  higher 
up,  where  it  was  spanned  by  a huge  rail  way- bridge,  and  curving  and 
twisting,  so  that  in  every  part  of  the  meadows  some  gleam  of  it  might 
be  seen.  The  view  would  have  seeemed  commonplace  to  an  ordinary 
observer.  There  was  nothing  picturesque  in  the  foundry,  or  the  rail- 
way bridge  wi  U its  iron  girders,  or  in  the  shoemaking  town  showing 
along  the  valley  less  than  a mile  off.  Yet  the  landscape  had  a wild- 
ness about  it  and  a vaiiety  of  aspect  which  appealed  strongly  to  the 
poetic  mind.  I11  the  summer  daytime,  it  was  a peaceful  Englbh  scene, 
all  green  grass  and  waving  corn  and  rippling  water,  which  neverthe- 
less reminded  Koorali  of  the  paddock  of  an  Australian  head  station, 
with  the  farm  cattle  and  sheep  browsing  close  to  the  house,  and  the 
apparent  absence  of  boundaries.  But  the  wind  sweeping  down  the 
valley  in  stormy  weather  had  beaten  the  pollarded  willows,  dotted  in 
rows  here  and  there,  into  fantastic  shapes.  In  such  weather  now  they 
looked  like  olive  trees,  with  the  silvery  side  of  the  leaves  upward  under 
a wrathful  sky.  In  winter  they  seemed  to  resemble  a procession  of 
gaunt  old  crones,  with  bent  and  witchlike  forms,  beseeching  alms. 
The  sun  set  over  the  town,  and  then  the  ugly  buildings  and  smoky 
chimneys  were  transfigured  by  purple  and  golden  light.  There  were 
red  stnaks  on  the  river;  the  outlines  blended  in  a poetic  haze,  and  a 
traveller  might  have  fancied  he  was  looking  across  one  of  the  plains  of 
Argos  or  Thessaly.  Later  on,  the  furnace  reddened  the  sky.  Some- 
times there  was  a mist,  and  then  the  tops  of  the  willows  showed  as 
islands  in  a white  lake,  and  a passing  express  flashed  above  it  like 
a comet  leaving  its  trail  of  fire. 

There  were  no  gardens  or  shrubbery  about  the  Grey  Manor.  A stone 
wall,  on  which  seedlings  grew  plentifully,  closed  in  on  two  sides  the 
little  square  lawn.  There  was  nothing  else  but  the  exposed  terrace 
walk,  with  a natural  arbour  of  yew  trees,  hundreds  of  years  old,  at 
each  end,  and  a steep  grassy  bank  in  which  were  cut  two  curious  holes 
that  might  have  been  loopholes  for  meuiasval  warfare,  but  were  in 
reality  intended  to  give  light  to  some  rambling  cellars  beneath. 

There  was,  indeed,  the  tradition  of  a subterranean  passage  connecting 
a winter  camp  of  the  Romans,  upon  which  the  neighbouring  village  of 
Lyndchester  stood,  with  their  summer  camp  beside  the  river  Lynde, 
on  the  site  of  which  the  Grey  Manor  was  built  and  the  cornfields  of 
the  farm  flourished.  Traces  of  the  Roman  encampment  still  remained, 
in  the  shape  of  a pair  of  rough-hewn  stone  coffins  standing  at  the  end 
of  the  lawn,  in  which  some  clumps  of  sunflowers  had  either  been 
planted  or  had  sown  themselves.  The  whole  place  was  old-world,  and 
full  of  impressions  and  associations.  It  affected  Koorali  most  strangely. 
It  deepened  her  dreamy  moods.  It  was  all  in  harmony  with  her  fancies 
and  yearnings.  Sometimes,  as  she  wandered  alone  by  the  river,  she 
could  almost  imagine  that  she  was  once  more  roaming  in  the  Australian 
bush.  She  had  a curious  sense  of  irresponsibility,  as  if  she  knew  her- 
self to  be  a mere  straw  in  the  current — a plaything  in  the  hands  of 
destiny.  And  she  had  another  odd  feeling  about  the  place — a sort  of 


COO -EE!” 


131 


prophetic  instinct  that  it  was  hound  up  with  her  own  fate;  that  a 
great  joy  or  a great  sorrow — she  dared  not  guess  which — would  befall 
her  there ; so  that  everything  about  the  grey  house,  every  phase  of  the 
landscape,  the  terrace  walk,  the  solemn  yews,  the  shadows  and  the 
mists  in  the  valley,  the  leaping  fires  of  the  furnace  which  she  often 
watched  late  into  the  night,  seemed  to  her  to  have  some  special 
significance  and  to  be  identified  with  her  own  mood  of  tender 
melancholy. 

Yet  her  melancholy  was  not  painful.  The  gentle  depression  which 
comes  after  strain  or  nervous  excitement  is  sometimes  almost  plea- 
surable. Koorali  told  herself  that  this  was  what  she  was  feeling.  IShe 
was  tired,  she  said ; she  had  been  seeing  too  many  people,  taking  in 
too  many  new  impressions.  She  was  tired,  of  dressing  up  and  laughing 
and  talking  “the  fine  weather.”  Why  did  the  tears  come  into  her 
eyes  as  she  remembered  Morse’s  phrase?  She  had  found  the  great 
world  of  little  account  to  her;  and  her  own  home  had  seemed  no  less 
barren  than  formerly,  in  contrast  with  the  glare  and  glitter  of  London 
life.  She  was  glad  to  be  here,  among  the  grey  stones  and  the  grim 
yews  and  the  relics  of  the  dead  and  gone  Romans;  glad  to  be  without 
her  husband,  and  with  only  her  boys  for  companions ; glad  of  the  repose 
and  the  loneliness. 

For  she  was  very  lonely.  It  came  upon  her  with  a shock  sometimes 
that  she  had  never  in  her  life  felt  so  lonely.  She  used  to  wake  up  at 
night  and  hear  the  train  rushing  by  over  the  river,  and  the  thought 
would  overwhelm  her  suddenly,  as  such  thoughts  do,  that  among  the 
myriads  of  sympathetic  souls  in  the  world,  there  was  not  one  to  which 
hers  could  turn  with  certainty  of  being  understood.  In  the  deeper 
sense  of  the  relationship,  she  had  neither  father,  mother,  brother, 
friend,  nor  busba* d ; and  she  felt  an  alien  among  strange  people  in  a 
atrange  land. 

She  was  restless,  and  she  hardly  understood  why.  She  occupied 
herself  in  arranging  the  knick-knacks  she  had  brought  from  London, 
in  hanging  draperies,  and  decorating  the  white-panelled  walls.  She 
walked  a great  deal,  strolling  for  miles  in  aimless  fashion  along  the 
river  bank,  where  there  was  a towing-path,  while  the  boys  ran  hither 
and  thither,  picking  blackberries  from  the  hedges,  and  reeds  and  marsh 
forget-me-nots.  She  did  not  show  herself  in  the  road  or  the  town,  and 
avoided  acquaintanceship  with  the  neighbours.  That  would  come  soon 
enough,  she  thought,  when  Crichton  came  back  and  insisted  on  dragging 
her  into  evidence,  and  when  Zen,  settled  at  the  Priory-on-the- Water, 
should  begin  the  series  of  garden  parties  and  entertainments  she  had 
been  planning. 

One  afternoon  in  late  August  she  was  walking  alone  by  the  river. 
The  children  were  not  with  her.  They  had  been  taken  by  their  nurse 
to  a fancy  fair  at  Lyndchester,  and  she  had  come  out,  carrying  a little 
hooked  implement,  to  gather  bulrushes  with  which  to  decorate  her 
drawing-room  afresh  before  Ken  way’s  return.  Sue  had  gone  some 
distance.  Her  depression  seemed  to  have  left  her,  and  she  felt  alto- 


132 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


gether  more  light-hearted,  more  capable  of  pure  physical  enjoyment 
than  she  had  been  for  a long  time  before.  As  she  filled  her  hands  with 
the  reeds  and  with  trails  of  the  nightshade,  in  this  month  red  with 
berries,  her  pleasure  in  the  occupation  was  almost  childish.  Every 
now  and  then  she  would  pause  and  look  over  the  meadow,  and  watch 
the  cattle  and  sheep,  and  sniff  the  new-mown  corn.  The  reapers  had 
been  at  work,  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  the  breath  of  harvest.  It 
was  all  unfamiliar  to  Koorali — the  flat  landscape,  the  green  grass,  the 
yellow  corn.  “England  is  beautiful,  too,”  she  said  to  herself.  She 
liked  the  crisp  feel  of  the  stubble  underfoot  as  she  strayed  away  from 
the  towing-path.  There  was  a fascination  about  the  slate-coloured 
stream  between  its  sedgy  margins.  In  some  places  the  current  ran 
swiftly,  in  others  there  were  still  leaden  pools,  with  patches  of  velvety 
siime  and  little  islets  of  tufted  rushes.  Where  the  water  was  clear, 
the  reflections  showed  distinct  as  in  a looking-glass.  The  sky  was 
dull,  with  white  woolly  clouds  banked  up  on  the  southern  horizon 
Away  to  the  west  lay  the  town,  and  the  valley  seemed  to  stretch  very 
far.  Koorali  had  reached  a spot  where  there  was  an  old  grey  stone 
bridge,  vandyked  as  the  bridges  are  in  this  county.  Close  to  it,  the 
river  divided  again,  and  made  a tongue  of  land,  on  which  stood  a red 
brick  water-mill.  A delicious  walled-in  garden  belonged  to  the  mill — 
a garden  filled  with  currant,  gooseberry,  and  raspberry  bushes,  and 
with  borders  of  fat  hollyhocks,  sunflowers,  honesty,  and  Canterbury 
bells,  and  all  the  blossoms  in  the  children’s  picture-books.  Koorali 
could  smell  the  lavender  and  the  late  carnations  across  the  stream. 
She  thought  of  Miles’s  pet  rhyme — 

“Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary  ; how  does  your  garden  grow? 

With  silver  bells  and  cockle  shells,  and ” 

She  could  not  remember  the  rest,  and  was  amused  at  her  own  childish 
longing  to  go  into  the  garden.  But  these  little  commonplace  things 
had  the  charm  of  novelty  for  the  Australian  girl,  and  her  nature  was 
a sweet  and  simple  one  that  did  not  need  artificial  excitement  to  make 
its  happiness.  She  liked  the  whole  scene.  There  was  to  her  some- 
thing poetic  in  the  little  promontory  and  the  gnarled  pollarded  willows 
growing  close  to  the  edge,  in  the  cold  still  water,  and  in  the  solitary 
white  swan  which  sailed  about  intensifying  the  impression  of  loneliness 
and  tender  sentiment. 

Koorali’s  course  was  interrupted  by  a dam  that  served  the  mill. 
She  turned,  crossed  the  bridge,  getting  on  to  the  towing-path  again, 
and  walked  along  homeward,  still  looking  back  regretfully  at  the  old- 
fashioned  flower  border  across  the  stream.  There  was  a bull  grazing  far 
away  on  the  path  in  front  of  her.  Koor&li  eyed  the  animal  nervously, 
ashamed  of  her  timidity,  yet  afraid  to  go  on — for  even  her  Australian 
training  had  not  enabled  her  to  overcome  a constitutional  terror  of 
cattle.  It  tossed  its  head — aggressively  she  thought — advanced  a step 
or  two,  then  stood  still.  It  moved  when  Koorali  moved,  but  it  came 
forward  while  she  retreated.  She  coo-eed  half  involuntarily.  A 


“ COO-EE /”  133 

shock-headed  youth  slouched  out  of  the  mill  yard.  lie  did  not  seem 
to  notice  her,  and  she  coo-eed  again,  louder. 

“Hoi,”  he  drawled.  And  then  in  answer  to  Kuorali’s  question 
whether  the  beast  was  quiet,  drawled  again  in  strong  Lyndfordshire 
accents,  “ Yeow  wun’t  get  no  harm,  Oi  thoink.” 

“ He  thinks”  murmuYed  Koorali  tragically.  She  was  enjoying  the 
small  adventure. 

“ Whom  does  the  hull  belong  to  ? ” she  asked.  “ Is  it  a bull  ? Can’t 
you  drive  it  away  ? ” 

“It  be  Muster  Dobito’s;  and  it  he  a bull,”  rejoined  the  youth,  “Oi 
thoink.  Yeow  go  straight  by.  He  win’t  stur,  Oi  thoink.” 

Koorali  fairly  laughed  aloud.  The  laugh  made  a pretty  tinkling 
sound  over  the  water,  and  she  herself,  standing  with  the  tall  reeds  in 
her  arms  and  the  amusement  and  perplexity  brightening  her  eyes,  was 
a very  charming  object. 

Just  at  that  moment,  and  to  her  utter  surprise,  her  Australian 
“coo-ee” — the  peculiar  cry,  long,  clear,  and  vibrating,  with  a sort  of 
plaintive  tone,  the  cry  by  which  wanderers  in  the  bush  call  for  help 
and  companionship — was  answered  by  another  coo-ee,  as  genuinely 
Australian  as  her  own.  The  cry  was  in  a man’s  voice ; and  it  might 
have  come  from  the  very  heart  of  the  Australian  bush. 

Some  one  stepping  out  of  the  mill  parlour  thought  instantly  of  a 
picture  he  had  seen  years  ago — a girl,  slender  of  form  and  with  a 
dreamy  joyous  face,  outlined  against  a grey  sky. 

Koorali’s  coo-ee  was  an  echo  from  the  past.  It  had  startled  Morse 
as  he  was  taking  leave  of  the  miller  after  a chat  on  Dissent,  politics, 
and  the  sentiments  of  the  agricultural  labourer,  that  unknown  quantity 
which  might  decide  the  future  destinies  of  England.  He  had  hardly 
known  at  first  whether  it  was  a real  coo-ee,  and  then  he  came  out  and 
gave,  haif-unconsciously,  his  answering  call,  and  saw  the  little  creature 
standing  there,  separated  from  him  by  the  cold  grey  line  of  water, 
with  her  pathetic  face  as  childlike  and  as  unconscious  as  when  first  it 
began  to  haunt  him.  Not  the  Koorali  of  London  drawing-rooms,  but 
that  Koorali  of  the  Australian  dawn,  which  seemed  to  stand  apart 
from  his  everyday  life,  and  to  have  enshrined  itself  in  the  most  poetic 
recesses  of  his  nature. 

They  looked  at  each  other  across  the  narrow  river.  Koorali  uttered 
a low  exclamation.  To  Morse,  the  cry  of  surprise  and  joy  sounded 
inexpressibly  sweet.  But  all  was  sweet  aud  dear — the  scene,  the 
fading  afternoon,  the  unexpected  sight  of  her — too  sweet  and  too  dear 
to  Lady  Betty’s  husband,  to  the  party  leader,  the  man  of  the  world, 
the  Right  Honourable  Sandham  Morse. 

Koorali  bent  forward,  with  arms  outstretched  involuntarily.  Her 
lips  were  parted.  Her  face,  a little  upturned,  was  more  eloquent  than 
she  knew.  It  was  such  a strange  little  face,  Morse  had  often  thought. 
It  could  look  so  frozen  up  at  times,  so  grave  and  sad.  But,  then,  when 
a smile  of  true  feeling  broke  over  it,  and  with  a natural  gesture,  the 
throat  curved  backward,  showing  the  chin  foreshortened,  the  nostrils 


1 34 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


dilated,  and  the  quiver-shaped  lips  trembling,  there  came  into  it  an 
expression  of  intense  sensibility,  and  the  suggestion  it  gave  of  capacity 
lor  passionate  emotion  might  well  stir  the  heart  of  such  a man  as 
Morse,  and  take  away  his  self-command  for  a moment. 

But  he  recovered  himself  immediately. 

“ Mrs.  Kenway ! How  refreshing  to  hear  an  Australian  coo-ee ! I 
did  not  know  that  the  Grey  Manor  was  near  enough  for  you  to  walk 
almost  as  far  as  Bromswold.  1?11  be  over  with  you  in  a moment,  and 
I’ll  drive  away  the  bull  and  carry  your  reeds  for  you.” 

Before  she  could  answer  he  was  walking  along  the  bank,  and  presently 
he  had  crossed  the  bridge,  sent  the  bull  to  the  other  side  of  the  meadow, 
and  was  beside  her. 

“ For  your  future  comfort,  Mrs.  Kenway,  I’ll  tell  you  that  legislation 
provides  against  the  letting  loose  of  dangerous  animals  in  a field  where 
there  is  a towing-path.  The  bull  was  a very  peaceable  animal ; quite 
a benign  old  bull.” 

Koorali  looked  very  bright  now,  and  laughed  at  her  own  discom- 
fiture. 

“ I wasn’t  realty  frightened,  Mr.  Morse.  I wanted  to  imagine  myself 
into  a dramatic  situation ; that  was  all.  But,  tell  me,  where  is 
Bromswold?  And  have  you  become  a travelling  tinker,  as  you  said 
you  wished,  that  you  are  wandering  by  my  river?” 

Koorali  held  out  her  hand,  and  Morse  took  it  in  his  own,  his  eyes 
resting  on  her  with  tender  interest. 

“No,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  I haven’t  turned  travelling  tinker  yet,  though 
it  is  true  that  I sometimes  wish  I were  one,  and  out  of  the  turmoil  of 
politics  and  the  great  world.  And  I don’t  mean  to  let  you  claim  an 
entire  right  to  the  river.  It  belongs  to  Bromswold  too,  which  I find 
now  can  only  be  a short  distance  from  the  Grey  Manor  across  the 
meadows.  It  is  six  or  seven  miles  bv  road.” 

“ You  are  there  now  ? ” asked  Koorali,  using  the  pronoun  collectively. 

“ I am  there — taking  advantage  of  being  alone  to  get  up  my  speeches 
for  the  election,  and  to  review  the  political  situation,  as  the  newspapeis 
put  it.  No;  as  a matter  of  fact,  I have  what  a public  man  should 
never  own  to — private  business  to  look  after — farms  unlet,  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  Lady  Betty  is  not  here.  She  is  still  at  Homburg 
with  her  father.” 

Koorali  had  noticed  that,  unreserved  as  he  was  to  her  in  regard  to 
political  matters  and  even  his  feelings  and  opinions,  he  did  not  often 
talk  to  her  about  his  wife,  and  he  always  mentioned  Lady  Betty 
formally.  She  adved  if  Lord  Germilion  was  better.  They  seemed  to 
be  in  the  conventional  atmosphere  once  more. 

“ Arden  and  two  or  three  other  fellows  are  coming  down,  I believe, 
next  week,”  Morse  went  on  rather  hurriedly;  “and  I must  confess  to 
abetting  a slaughter  you  won’t  approve  of,  Mrs.  Ken  way.  One  of  the 
men  is  great  at  pigeon  shooting,  and  wants  to  get  his  hand  in  for  the 
Monte  Carlo  matches ; so  I have  been  interviewing  my  friend  the  miller 
on  the  subject  of  pigeons.” 


“ COO-EE /”  135 

There  was  a little  silence.  They  had  begun  to  walk  slowly  along 
the  river  bank. 

“Tell  me,”  he  said  abruptly.  “This  place  suits  you,  doesn’t  it? 
There  is  something  wild  and  picturesque  about  the  long  stretch  of 
meadows,  and  the  willows,  and  the  sunset  reddening  the  water?  It’s 
the  sort  of  place  to  roam  about  and  dream  in.  It  isn’t  English,  except 
the  mill  there,  which  might  have  come  out  of  one  of  George  Eliot’s 
novels.” 

“I  have  been  thinking  of  Miles’s  story-books,”  said  Koorali.  “And 
I have  been  longing  to  go  into  the  garden  and  listen  if  the  flowers 
wouldn’t  each  tell  its  own  story,  like  the  flowers  in  the  old  witch’s 
garden  when  Hans  Andersen’s  little  Gerda  went  out  into  the  wide 
world.” 

“ Come,  then,”  said  Morse,  with  an  eagerness  foreign  to  his  usual 
manner.  “ It  is  a garden  in  a story-book.  Let  us  be  like  children  for 
once,  and  I will  ask  the  miller  to  let  me  gather  you  a bunch  of  lavender, 
and  the  flowers  you  fancy.  They  will  tell  you  a story,  perhaps,  though 
they  won’t  have  any  for  me.” 

The  two  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and  he  opened  a gate  in  the  red 
brick  wall,  and  took  Koorali  into  ihe  garden.  The  house  door  at  which 
he  tapped  led  straight  into  the  little  parlour ; and  here,  over  a tea- 
service  and  a large  plate  of  buttered  toast,  sat  a purple-faced  old  man, 
with  a Bible  open  beside  his  plate,  an  elderly  woman  in  rusty  black 
and  a purple  “ crossover,”  sourly  sanctimonious  in  expression,  and  a 
younger  woman,  lugubrious-looking  also,  and  in  deep  weeds. 

Morse  explained  that  the  old  gentleman  was  Mr.  Popkiss,  the  miller’s 
father,  the  elderly  woman  his  daughter,  and  the  younger  one  a lodger. 
He  introduced  Koorali,  and  accepted  for  her  and  for  himself  the  cup  of 
tea  which  was  oflered.  His  manner  was  delightful,  Koorali  thought ; 
it  was  so  frank  and  easy.  She  did  not  wonder  at  his  popularity  among 
the  poorer  classes. 

“ I want  you  to  let  Mrs.  Kenway  pick  a bunch  of  flowers  for  herself, 
Mr.  Popkiss.  I don't  think  she  has  ever  seen  an  old-fashioned  garden, 
with  real  English  flowers  in  it,  quite  like  yours.  Mrs.  Kenway  is  an 
Australian,  and  only  came  over  to  this  country  a very  short  time 
ago.” 

The  information  seemed  to  impress  Mr.  Popkiss  somewhat.  He  was 
delighted  at  Koorali’ s admiration  of  the  garden ; and  then  he  asked  a 
good  many  questions  about  Australia.  He  thought  it  was  “ a pity 
there  weren’t  a many  more  young  men  making  for  Australia,  instead  of 
starving  in  counting-houses.”  “ Why,  sir,”  he  said,  turning  to  Morse, 
“ there  are  boys  in  the  big  cities  that  don’t  earn  enough  fur  bread  and 
cheese — no,  nor  bread  by  itself.  I’ve  got  a nephew  out  in  Australia  as 
makes  as  much  in  one  day  at  the  plough,  as  his  brother  does  m a week 
in  a tea  merchant’s  office  in  London.  He’d  set  his  heart  on  that, 
because  he  thought  it  a tiner  sort  of  thing.  Twenty-hve  pounds  a year, 
and  expected  to  dress  like  a gentleman  in  a topper  and  a cloth  coatl 
Why,  I wouldn’t  stand  that,  ma’am;  I’d  first  just  kick  the  crown 


136  “ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE, ” 

out  of  the  shiny  hat,  and  then  I’d  off  to  Australia.  Bless  me,  if  I 
wouldn’t ! ” 

“ No,  you  ain’t  a-going  to  tell  me  that,  Popkiss.  You’d  stick  to  the 
old  country,  even  though  she’s  going  down,”  said  a big  burly  man  who 
came  in  at  that  moment. 

He  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  while  Morse  got  lip, 
and  held  out  his  hand  with  a cordial  “ Ah!  how  are  you,  Mr.  Dobito? 
I heard  of  you  out  cubbing  this  morning.  How’s  the  mare?” 

“ Oh,  I’m  topping  well,  and  she  don’t  want  no  nussing,  Mr.  Morse. 
She’s  a wonderful  good  ’oss,  if  you  don’t  overpace  her.  Not  a pleasant 
’oss,  not  an  easy  mouth ; but  there  ain’t  a stiff  fence  or  a trappy  ditch 
that  she  can’t  find  her  way  over.  She’s  as  clever  as  a cat,  she  i3. 
There  weren’t  ever  a fence  she  couldn’t  get  through.  She  run  sound 
— she  do.” 

Mr.  Dobito  sat  down  after  delivering  this  emphatic  encomium  on 
the  mare,  and  went  straight  to  his  business,  which  appeared  to  be  with 
Mrs.  Prowse,  and  concerned  a pig  which  he  had  bought  at  her  request 
at  Lyndchester  market.  When  it  was  done  with,  he  got  up  again, 
but  did  not  seem  inclined  to  go  away.  He  was  a curious-looking  man, 
a perfect  type  of  the  old  Midland  farmer,  tall,  square-built,  with  a 
weather-beaten  face,  and  a bald  head  fringed  with  iron-grey.  He  had 
another  fringe  of  more  stubbly  growth  round  his  chin.  His  eyes  were 
black,  beady,  and  humorous,  his  eyebrows  and  lashes  thick  and  over- 
hanging. His  upper  lip  was  long,  his  teeth  were  long  also,  and  his 
mouth  seemed  the  same  width  at  the  corners  as  at  the  middle. 

“ You  weren’t  at  the  Liberal  meeting  at  Lyndchester  the  other  night, 
Dobito?”  said  Morse,  anxious  to  draw  him  into  conversation. 

“ I’m  no  Liberal,  nor  yet  Conservative,  nor  Radical,  Mr.  Morse. 
Where’s  the  good?  I’m  for  the  farmers,  I am,  and  which  of  ’em  all 
will  listen  to  what  the  farmers  have  got  to  say,  and  call  ’em  aught  but 
a grumbling  lot  ? Why,  God  bless  my  soul,  it’s  not  because  it’s  the 
nature  of  farmers  to  grumble;  it’s  because  of  the  extray  burdens 
and  the  working  man  ! I’m  quite  tired  of  that  there  working  man. 
The  Radicals  and  the  noospapers  have  made  an  idol  of  him— they 
have.” 

“ But  they  tell  me  wheat  is  going  to  rise,  Mr.  Dobito,”  said  Morse. 

“ It’ll  rise  when  we’ve  done  growing  it,”  said  Mr.  Dobito,  with  a dark 
and  ominous  frown.  “Mark  ye,  Mr.  Morse,  England’s  going  down. 
I don’t  say  that  she  won’t  p;ck  up;  hut  there’s  too  many  cheap  things 
sold.  That’s  where  the  mischief  lies.  The  work  ain’t  well  done. 
There’s  the  shoes  now.” 

Mrs.  Prowse  and  the  widow  nodded  in  tragic  assent. 

“ You  ain’t  a-going  to  tell  me ,”  continued  Mr,  Dobito,  “ that  the 
Russians,  or  the  Belgians,  or  the  Japanese,  or  any  other  ese  is  a-going 
to  stand  shoes  with  paper  soles,  and  to  send  their  leather  over  here 
when  they  can  turn  it  into  shoes  at  home.  These  manufactors  all 
about  here  ain’t  got  a conscience.  They  all  stood  ahind  the  door  when 
consciences  were  given  out.  They  make  articles  that  ain’t  no  articles 


“COO-EE  /” 


*37 


at  all.  But  mark  ye,  ma’am,”  and  Mr.  Dobito  fixed  Koorali  with  his 
glittering  eye,  “ when  the  great  Maker  of  all  things  has  His  word  to 
say,  why  I reckon  He’ll  make  it  hot  for  ’em !” 

“Mrs.  Kenway  hasn’t  heard  about  the  paper  soles  yet,  Dobito,” 
explained  Morse.  “ She  has  only  been  at  the  Grey  Manor  for  a few 
weeks.  We  must  enlighten  her  about  county  affairs — you  and  I.” 

“ Not  Mrs.  Kenway  at  the  Priory  ?”  said  Mr.  Dobito,  looking  doubt- 
fully at  Koorali.  “Quite  another  sort,  begging  your  pardon,  ma’am. 
That’s  Mrs.  Eustace.” 

“ My  sister-in-law,”  said  Koorkli. 

“ She’s  no  mean  galloper,  she  ain’t,”  exclaimed  Mr.  Dobito  enthusi- 
astically. “ I’ve  seen  her  giving  her  ’oss  a stretch.  She  do  love  dogs 
— why,  she  has  a street  of  ’em,  and  she  wants  me  to  give  her  my  opinion 
about  a foxhound  terrier  she’s  got,  and  she’s  a-going  to  bring  him  over 
to  my  ricks.  I don’t  think  so  much  of  her  husband.  He  don’t  care 
about  hunting ; a coach  and  pair,  that’s  about  his  form.  Looks  as 
though  he  wanted  roast  beef  and  port  wine.  I reckon  he  lives  on  kick- 
shaws and  your  new-fangled  soda  water,  or  Apollinaris,  with  a dash  of 
whiskey  in  ’em,  that  makes  it  worse.  I don’t  hold  to  that  rubbish. 
It’s  my  way  to  go  on  straight  with  the  port.” 

“ Really,  Mr.  Dobito,  I think  you’re  a little  unjust  to  my  brother- 
in-law,”  said  Koorali,  laughing.  “ I assure  you  Fve  seen  him  go  on 
straight  with  the  port  too.” 

“ Maybe,”  returned  the  farmer.  “ I did  hear  of  him  the  other  day 
buying  two  hunters — I didn’t  see  him,  mind — I didn’t  see  him ; but  I 
thought  to  myself  'That  looks  better.’  Well,  good  day  to  you,  Mrs. 
Prowse,  I’ll  see  about  the  pig  coming.  Good-bye,  ma’am,  I hope  I’ll 
see  you  again,  with  Mrs.  Eustace.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Morse.” 

Old  Popkiss,  in  his  capacity  of  host,  hobbled  to  the  door,  and  watched 
Mr.  Dobito  mount.  When  he  came  back,  he  seemed  determined  to 
have  his  innings,  for  Mr.  Dobito  had  monopolized  the  conversation. 
Mr.  Popkiss  talked  volubly  and  discursively.  He  addressed  Morse 
principally. 

Koorali  was  a little  shy,  but  she  tried  to  make  conversation  with  the 
women.  Presently,  however,  the  younger  one  in  black  got  up  with  a 
somewhat  tragic  air  and  withdrew. 

“ She’s  a widow  that  we  have  here  with  us,  ma’am,”  remarked  Mr. 
Popkiss  confidentially.  “ She’s  the  widow  of  the  doctor’s  assistant  at 
Lyndchester.  She’s  in  deep  sorrow.” 

“ Oh,  I hope  that  she  didn’t  mind  our  coming  in,”  exclaimed  Koorali 
sympathetically. 

“It  comes  hard  upon  her,”  continued  Mr.  Popkiss;  “for  she  has 
been  used  to  high  life — to  high  life,”  he  repeated  impressively.  “A 
horse  and  shay  and  a pound  a day.  Not  that  she  ain’t  comfortable 
now;  but  for  them  as  has  been  used  to  high  life,  it’s  hard  to  come 
down  to  that  which  is  low.  But  I says  to  her,  1 The  Lord  must  ha’ 
set  great  store  on  you,  Mrs.  Bird,  or  He  wouldn’t  have  taken  your 
husband  from  you.’  ” 

10 


1 33 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


“ Some  of  us  might  think  that  view  of  Providence  rather  a harsh 
one,”  said  Morse. 

" There’s  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Prowse,”  Mr.  Popkiss  went  on,  taking 
no  notice  of  the  remonstrance,  “ a widow  likewise;  and  her  husband 
was  a sore  trial — as  must  be  a consolation  to  Mrs.  Bird ; for  it’s  com- 
forting to  the  afflicted  to  be  with  them  that  have  passed  through  the 
deep  waters.” 

Koorali  looked  sympathetically  at  Mrs.  Prowse,  who  cast  down  her 
eyes,  conscious  apparently  of  having  been  unjustly  buffered  by  Fate, 
and  heaved  a deep  sigh. 

“It  were  an  awful  trial,”  she  murmured.  “No  one  knows  what  it 
is  but  them  as  has  to  endure  it.  I wouldn’t  wish  my  enemy  worse 
luck  nor  a husband  as  ha’  got  a liver.” 

Morse  laughed  pleasantly  as  he  rose. 

“ We’ve  all  got  livers  in  these  days,  Mrs.  Prowse — we  men ; and 
tempers,  too.  I am  afraid  that  both  Mrs.  Kenway  and  my  wife  have 
to  suffer  from  them  sometimes.  Now,  we’ll  go  and  gather  our  liowers, 
if  we  may,  and  I shan’t  let  you  come  out  with  us,  Mrs.  Prows  *,  for 
the  mists  are  rising,  as  I know  that  you  are  apt  to  take  a chill  and 
are  not  as  strong  as  you  might  be.” 

They  said  good-bye,  shaking  hands  with  the  old  people,  and  left  the 
parlour.  As  Koorali  stooped  over  the  lavender  bush  und  rnea  th  the 
open  w ndow  she  heard  Mrs.  Prowse  remark  in  a tone  of  gratification — 
u There  be  a difference  in  the  hearts  of  men,  to  be  sure.  Now,  Mr. 
Morse,  he  do  show  a heart  for  sickness.  There’s  parson  at  Lyndchest  jr 
— he  don’t  understand  a poor  body’s  complaints.  I met  him  the  other 
day,  and  I’d  just  put  my  foot  out,  to  pick  up  a few  sticks.  ‘ Why, 
Mrs.  Prowse,’  says  he,  ‘ I’m  pleased  to  see  you  so  well,  and  taking  a 
walk.5  And  he  might  ha’  knowed,”  added  Mrs.  Prowse,  with  sorrowful 
resentment,  “that  I were  but  weakly  in  my  health,  and  couldn’t  get 
as  far  as  the  bridge  to  save  my  life,  nor  have  done  it  this  many  years.” 
Koor&li  laughed  softly,  and  looked  up  at  Morse,  who  adde  1 clove 
pinks  and  sweet-smelling  stocks  to  her  lavender,  and  soon  they  had  a 
goodly  bunch.  He  watched  her  as  one  might  watch  a happy  child. 
In  truth  she  was  very  happy.  She  enjoyed  the  little  experience. 
There  was  in  it  something  idyllic,  and,  simple  as  it  all  was,  unlike  any 
other  experience.  He  too  seemed  to  have  unbent,  and  to  be  more  of 
the  schoolboy  than  the  statesman.  As  they  walked  along  the  river 
bank  towards  the  Grey  Manor  they  talked  in  an  inconsequent  fashion, 
which  was,  for  that  reason  perhaps,  very  sweet.  It  was  the  easy 
interchange  of  passing  thoughts  between  two  dear  companions,  who 
are  living  just  in  the  hour  and  in  the  certainty  of  each  other’s  sympathy, 
and  underlying  the  light  flow  there  was  the  faint  consciousness  of 
emotion,  at  once  exciting  and  soothing.  She  knew,  though  he  did  not 
tell  her,  that  he  had  been  thinking  much  of  her  during  their  separation. 
Nothing  definite  was  said  about  the  loss  of  her  husband’s  appointment 
and  the  political  crisis  at  hand.  Yet  she  felt  vaguely  that  both  had 
been  in  his  mind  in  connection  with  her  wishes  for  the  future.  H.- 


COO-EE! 


asked  her,  “Did  she  like  the  Grey  Manor?  Did  she  regret  London? 
Would  she  mind  living  in  the  country  for  a time,  or  would  she  prefer 
to  go  back  to  Australia?”  And  from  her  simple  replies,  and  the 
chance  revelations  she  made  of  her  occupations,  her  interests,  her  train 
of  thought,  he  learned  with  a curious  pleasure  that  she  was  beginning 
to  be  fond  of  England,  that  she  could  be  very  happy  with  her  children 
in  the  quiet  natural  life  she  led.  It  was  monotonous,  perhaps,  she 
said;  but  nothing  jarred  here.  And  she  thought  she  liked  being  dull, 
and  sometimes  even  melancholy  was  pleasant — “ like  sad  poetry.”  She 
liked  to  be  left  alone,  and  she  liked  “ the  peace  of  it  all.”  And  then 
it  came  out  that  all  this  time  her  husband  had  been  away. 

Morse  asked  when  Kenway  was  expected  back. 

“ To-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  I think,”  she  answered ; “ but  Crichton 
is  always  uncertain,  and  it  depends  upon  whether  he  has  good  shooting 
and  is  amused.” 

“ I hope  he  will  be  here  on  the  1st,”  said  Morse,  “ and  that  he  will 
tramp  a few  turnip-fields  with  me.  I can't  tell  what  sort  of  a bag  we 
are  likely  to  get  otf  Bromswold;  but,  anyhow,  we  shall  have  a few 
birds.” 

They  had  come  to  the  bend  of  the  river  below  the  railway  bridge. 

The  sun  was  gone  down,  and  there  was  only  a faint  radiance  in  the 
west.  It  did  not  seem  to  reach  them.  Here  the  water  was  leaden, 
and  the  images  in  it  of  the  trees  and  the  arches  of  the  bridge  looked 
black  and  sharp.  A man  fishing  at  the  sedgy  border  of  the  bend  stood 
reflected — two  figures,  as  it  were,  joined  at  the  feet — a strange  lonely 
object  against  the  sky.  There  was  a thin  vaporous  moon  shining  above 
the  Grey  Manor,  which  rose  on  the  opposite  bank. 

Morse  was  struck  by  the  aspect  of  the  place — the  raised  terrace, 
with  its  odd  loopholes,  and  the  grey  house,  ivy-grown  and  set  between 
the  clumps  of  solemn  yews.  He,  too,  at  that  instant  felt  something 
of  Koorali’s  prophetic  instinct. 

He  went  with  her  to  a wicket  gate  at  one  end  of  the  terrace  beneath 
the  yews,  and  opened  it  for  her  to  pass  through.  Then  he  held  out 
his  hand. 

“ You  won’t  come  in  ? ” she  said,  with  timid  questioning.  “ I want 
you  to  see  the  house  and  some  Australian  things  I have  put  up.” 

“ Not  this  evening.  I shall  have  to  walk  fast  to  get  home  in  time 
for  an  appointment.  But  may  I come  to-morrow  afternoon  and  see 
you — and  the  Australian  things  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes,  I shall  be  so  glad.”  A bright  look  of  pleasure  flashed 
over  the  sensitive  little  face.  She  gathered  up  her  reeds  and  her 
flowers,  holding  them  close  to  her  so  that  the  bulrushes  framed  her 
head. 

He  seemed  to  linger.  “ Yes,”  he  said,  at  once  musingly  and  abruptly, 
“ I like  this  background  for  you  better  than  the  London  one.  It  seems 
somehow  to  bring  you  back  as  you  first  appeared  to  me.  Do  you 
remember,  when  we  met  in  London,  how  your  name — Koorali — came 
to  my  lips  at  once  ? 1 feel  the  same  sort  of  impulse  here.” 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


1 40 

KoorMi  turned  her  large  soft  eyes  straight  upon  him  in  that  silent 
way  she  had.  No  words  she  could  have  uttered  then  would  have 
conveyed  t » him  what  that  look  told.  It  was  so  childlike,  and  yet  so 
full  of  diunity,  of  pathos,  of  trust. 

lie  took  her  hand  in  his.  His  eyes  were  no  less  earnest,  no  less 
unH inching  in  their  gaze.  “ Good-by  e,*’  he  said,  “ Koorali,  my  little 
qlleen.’, 

“ Uool-bye,”  she  answered,  in  a strange,  subdued  voice,  and  they 
parted. 

As  he  walked  homeward  and  from  the  river  bank  looked  up  at  the 
terrace,  he  saw  her  standing  there  still,  with  her  children  by  her  side. 
She  was  watching  him ; but  her  children  were  by  her  side. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

“one  touch  lights  up  two  lamps.” 

The  next  morning’s  post-bag,  which  came  when  Koorali  was  break- 
fasting, brought  no  news  of  Crichton.  Koorali  had  half  expected  to 
hear  that  he  would  return  that  day.  Now  she  knew  that  he  was  not 
coming.  As  she  put  down  the  last  of  the  pile  of  unopened  letters,  at 
which  she  had  glanced  one  by  one,  and  was  certain  that  there  was 
none  from  him,  she  was  almost  frightened  at  the  wild  bound  her 
heart  gave.  Another  day  of  peace  and  irresponsibility — of  freedom,  of 
happiness.  What  bad  come  to  her?  Why  the  soft  glow  at  her  heart, 
the  secret  hugging  of  moments,  which  owed  their  charm  to  pleasurable 
anticipation  ? To  what  did  she  look  forward  ? She  had  been  lonely ; 
she  had  been  vaguely  sad.  Now  she  was  no  longer  lonely  and  sad. 
Her  spirits  bad  regained  their  elasticity.  The  world  was  beautiful,  the 
sky  was  bright,  and  the  air  sweet.  She  wanted  to  wander  out  in  the 
sunshine,  to  breathe  the  scent  of  flowers  and  corn  and  meadow-sweet, 
to  have  her  pulses  stirred  by  the  rustle  of  the  wind,  the  singing  of  the 
birds,  the  murmur  of  the  bees.  Why  should  she  not  yield  to  this 
luxurious  sense  of  delight,  which  was  in  itself  so  pure  and  so  natural? 
She  shook  herself  free  of  the  chill  terror  which  for  an  instant  seized 
and  bewildered  her.  She  caught  up  her  letters  again,  and  took  little 
Miles’s  hand  in  hers.  The  child  had  been  watching  her  wistfully, 

“Come,  my  little  boys,”  she  said,  “we  shall  have  such  a happy 
morning,  and  while  I read  my  letters,  you  shall  go  and  get  your  rakes, 
and  we  will  make  the  lawn  tidy,  because  we  are  going  to  have  a visitor 
to-day.” 

“Who?”  cried.  Lance.  And  Miles  asked  eagerly,  “ Is  it  Mr. 
Morse  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; it  is  Mr.  Morse,”  answered  KoorMi. 

“ They  were  talking  about  Mr.  Morse  at  Lyndchester  fair  yesterday,” 
said  Lance,  “ and  one  man  said  he  was  a coward,  because  he  wanted 


“ONE  TOUCH  LIGHTS  UP  TWO  LAM  PS  I 141 

the  English  to  knock  under  and  not  fight.  Fight  who,  mamma  ? 
And  another  man — I think  it  was  Mr.  Dobito — was  very  angry,  and 
he  said  he  wished  they’d  make  Mr.  Morse  Prime  Minister,  because 
he’d  take  taxes  off  the  people.” 

Koora  i listened  with  interest.  “And  what  else  did  they  say, 
Lance  ? ” 

“Oh,  I don’t  know,”  said  Lance.  “I  didn’t  care.  I want  to  go 
back  to  Australia;  it’s  all  jolly  humbug  here.  Oh  yes,  I remember. 
They  were  talking  about  Prime  Ministers,  and  Mr.  Dobito  said  there 
was  old  Gladstone  would  stand  up  with  a long  glib  tongue  and  talk 
a lot  of  bosh,  but  that  Mr.  Morse  was  the  man  for  the  farmers,  for  lie 
wanted  to  make  Englishmen  comfortable,  and  didn’t  care  to  go  about 
the  world  killing  savages.  What  does  that  mean,  mamma?  Who 
is  killing  savages  ? ” 

Koorali  read  her  letters  under  the  yew  trees.  One  from  Zenobia,  in 
a great  square  envelope,  fantastically  ribbed  and  mottled  and  emblazoned 
with  the  Ken  way  arms,  told  her  that  her  time  of  seclusion  was  almost 
over.  Zen  wrote  a big  round  hand,  like  the  hand  of  a schoolboy  of 
nine.  Her  epistolary  style  was  discursive,  like  her  conversation,  and 
sometimes  amusing.  She  wrote  from  the  Canteloupes’  place  in  York- 
shire, where  she  and  Eustace  were  staying  on  their  way  back  from 
Scotland. 

“Dearest  KoorAli, 

“ We  are  going  to  be  at  the  Priory  on  the  2nd.  You  and 
Crichton  are  to  come  over  and  stop  a week  with  me,  and  admire  the 
house  now  it’s  done  up.  I think  you’ll  say  I know  how  to  make 
myself  comfortable.  Having  done  that,  I shall  get  you  and  Lord  Arden 
to  show  me  how  I can  make  the  village  comfortable.  It’s  all  beastly 
new — I mean  the  furniture.  The  village  is  as  old  as  the  Knights 
Templar.  I notice  that  in  most  houses  the  furniture  isn’t  new,  and 
that  it  looks  dirty.  I like  things  clean — spick-and-span;  floors  you 
could  eat  your  dinner  off.  Anyhow,  I’m  new,  so  it  will  suit  me,  if  it 
doesn’t  suit  Eustace.  I think  I’m  too  new  for  him,  only  he  is  too 
polite  to  say  so.  The  Family  hasn’t  snuffed  me  out  yet.  There  are 
sixteen  of  them  here.  It’s  family  sauce  with  everything.  Some  of 
them  are  Catholics  and  some  are  Protestants ; that’s  the  only  variety. 
I notice  there’s  an  awful  lot  of  ceremony  in  the  way  Protestants  approach 
their  Creator.  Sunday  is  the  State  function.  It  must  be  something 
real  serious  before  they’ll  venture  on  a confidential  week-day  com- 
munication. Old  Canteloupe,  in  his  own  house,  looks  about  as  com- 
fortable and  as  much  at  home  as  a cat  in  a cold  bath.  Her  ladyship 
snaps  him  up  pretty  sharp.  She’s  a beast,  with  a long  nose  and  short 
petticoats — ‘ suitable  for  country  wear,  my  dear  ’ — and  she  looks  at 
my  velvet  frock  with  an  evil  eye.  I do  love  velvet,  but  it  seems  to 
get  the  mange  when  she  looks  at  it.  I feel  a patchwork  of  brutality 
and  blasphemy  when  she  empties  out  Solomon’s  precepts  over  me. 
Tell  Crichton  there’s  a man  here  with  his  eye  on  a spaniel  exactly 


142 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


answering  to  the  description  he  gave  me  of  what  he  wanted.  She  is 
black,  without  a white  hair ; nine  months  old,  tender-mouthed,  used 
rabbits,  but  isn’t  acquainted  wirh  partridges.  Her  mother  took 
second  prize  at  Birmingham,  and  she  costs  four  pounds.  If  Crichton 
won’t  have  her,  she  shall  go  into  my  dog-street.  I am  afraid,  my 
dear,  the  horizon  of  your  prospects  is  beastly  clouded.  The  Family 
is  a widow’s  cruise  of  dark  prognostics.  ‘ Sweet  are  the  uses  of 
adversity.’  Rot ! A splendid  plaster  to  another  person's  gash,  but 
hot  iron  to  your  own.  However,  if  Morse  comes  in  it  will  be  all  right 
for  you,  and,  see-saw,  down  with  the  aristocracy  and  up  with  Hodge 
and  liis  cow.  I’m  new,  so  it  won’t  do  for  me  to  be  a democrat.  I 
belong  to  the  Primrose  League,  and  I am  ordering  a primrose  skirt. 
Shan’t  I look  lovely  ? 

“ Good-bye.  Mind,  you  are  to  come  on  the  2nd. 

“ Your  affectionate  sister-in-law, 

“Zenobia  Kenway.” 

Koorali  smiled  softly  as  she  read  Zen’s  letter,  but  her  face  became 
grave  when  she  finished  it.  She  did  not  like  the  suggestion  that 
Morse  would  provide  for  them  if  he  should  come  into  power.  She 
would  rather  that  their  friendship  should  be  without  taint  of  time- 
serving or  self-interest.  It  pained  her  to  have  it  brought  home  to  her 
that  when  Zen  spoke  out  many  others  must  be  thinking. 

When  Morse  arrived,  the  children  were  having  tea  in  an  odd 
excrescence  leading  off  the  hall,  a queer  little  room  of  no  particular 
shape,  with  a deep  mullioned  window,  over  which  the  ivy  crept,  and 
a panelled  mantel-board  that  lifted  up  and  showed  dark  cavities  once 
used  for  keeping  tinder  in,  the  delight  of  the  boys,  a store  to  them  of 
fathomless  mystery  and  inexhaustible  possibilities  of  concealment. 

Lance  jumped  up,  crying,  “Mr.  Morse.”  He  had  caught  sight  of 
Morse’s  tall  form  passing  the  window. 

It  was  Koorali  herself  who  appeared  in  the  open  doorway  just  as  he 
stepped  within  to  reach  the  ancient  iron  knocker. 

“We  are  very  primitive,  you  see,”  she  said,  smiling.  “We  don’t 
indulge  in  the  luxury  of  bells,  and  we  let  our  door  stand  open  because 
it  is  so  heavy,  and  the  latch  is  so  huge  and  clumsy  that  the  children 
could  not  draw  it  if  they  tried.” 

Morse  admired  the  thick  oak  beams  studded  with  immense  nails, 
and  the  rusty  iron  bars  and  gigantic  key  standing  in  the  lock.  He 
admired  also  the  low  hall,  with  its  oak  panelling  notched  and  defaced 
* in  many  places,  its  dingy  ceiling  crossed  with  beams,  its  massive  doors 
opening  in  all  directions,  and  its  stone-flagged  floor,  on  which  Koorali 
had  thrown  opossum  rugs  and  kangaroo  skins.  Though  simple  even 
to  bareness,  it  was  all  very  picturesque,  and  it  seemed  to  him  in 
keeping  with  Koorali  herself. 

“ It  puts  me  in  mind  of  Australia,”  she  said,  “except  for  the  grey 
stone  and  the  oak  and  the  Romans.  I must  show  you  the  coffins  pre- 
sently. The  kitchen  is  next  this,  so  we  haven’t  far  to  go  for  anything 


uOXE  TOUCH  LIGHTS  UP  TWO  LAMPS .”  143 

we  want.  And  oh,  Mr.  Morse,  there  is  quite  a manorial  fireplace  in  it, 
and  a real  ingle-nook  ! ” 

He  had  the  same  feeling  as  yesterday,  that  life  was  altogether  more 
natural  and  joyous,  and  that  the  restraints  of  conventionality  might 
he  cast  aside.  She  looked  so  simple  and  childlike  with  her  children. 
She  brought  him  into  the  little  room  and  gave  him  tea  with  them. 
She  did  not  summon  a servant,  but  with  Miles  waited  upon  him. 
Lance  was  sent  for  a fresh  cup  and  plate,  she  herself  went  for  some 
wonderful  strawberry  jam,  for  which  the  boys  had  pleaded  in  honour 
of  the  guest.  They  were  very  merry,  with  just  an  undertone  of  emotion 
running  through  the  merriment.  Morse  had  a pleasant  way  with 
children.  He  laughed  heartily  when  Lance  gravely  asked  him  whether 
he  was  really  afraid  to  let  the  English  fight,  and  if  the  Queen  would 
make  him  Prime  Minister,  and  repeated  Mr.  Dobito’s  remarks. 

When  tea  was  over  Koor&li  sent  the  children  away  to  their  play, 
and  took  him  into  her  sitting-room,  which  was  one  of  the  Georgian 
rooms,  and  had  lofty  white-panelled  walls,  and  tall  straight  windows, 
with  window-seats.  She  had  managed  to  make  this  like  herself  too, 
with  the  bits  of  drapery  flung  about,  and  the  Australian  weapons  and 
skins  and  pieces  of  tapa  contrasting  oddly  with  the  knick-knacks  she 
had  brought  from  London  and  some  specimens  of  Pioman  pottery  ranged 
on  the  high  mantel-shelf. 

Their  talk  rippled  on  much  as  it  had  done  the  day  before. 

“ I don’t  think  people  get  half  enough  out  of  life,”  Morse  said, 
“ half  as  much  as  they  might.” 

“ But  you  surely  have  got  a good  deal  out  of  life?”  Koor&li  said, 
looking  at  him  with  a kind  of  wonder.  He  had  seen  so  much,  done 
so  much,  lived  so  much. 

“ Yes,  I have  got  a good  deal  out  of  it.  I have  tried  to  warm  both 
hands  before  the  fire  of  life.” 

“ That  is  a good  way  of  putting  it.  I like  that,”  Koorali  said 
quickly. 

“ It’s  not  mine ; it’s  Savage  Landor’s.  The  fire  is  apt  to  scorch 
sometimes.” 

“ With  most  people  to  turn  into  embers  and  ashes,  I think,”  Koorali 
said,  and  then  wished  she  had  said  something  else,  or  said  nothing. 

“ Ah  ! ” he  exclaimed ; **  you  haven’t  much  confidence  in  the 
theory  that  every  one  is  meant  to  be  happy.” 

She  smiled  a little  sadly.  “ I haven’t  much  confidence  in  anything. 

I think  it  all  left  me  when  I ” She  was  going  to  say,  “ when  I 

married,”  but  she  did  not.  She  said,  “ when  I grew  to  be  a woman.” 

“ Why,  then  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I don’t  know.  Perhaps  I had  too  much  confidence  before,  and 
expected  more  out  of  life  than  I’d  any  right  to.” 

“ One  has  a right  to  expect  a good  deal  out  of  life.  There  ought  to 
be  material  enough  in  life  for  each  of  us  to  have  his  heart’s  desire, 
sooner  or  later.  The  worst  is,  that  we  most  of  us  make  it  a ‘ too 
soon  ’ or  a ‘ too  late.’  ” 


144 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE J 


“ Ah,  yes,”  Koorali  said  quickly. 

“The  pieces  are  all  there,”  Morse  went  on,  “ but  we  shake  them  up 
impatiently,  and  the  right  ones  can’t  by  any  reasonable  possibility  be 
got  together,  and  the  wrong  ones  are  wedged  fast ; and  it  ends  in  a 
stalemate  rather  than  a checkmate,  for  the  most  part.” 

There  was  a short  pause.  Her  breath  came  a little  faster.  It  was 
strange  to  hear  the  successful  man  talk  thus,  with  his  melancholy 
metaphor  about  life’s  stalemate.  Koorali  was  seated  before  a little 
table,  on  which  she  leaned  with  her  hands  clasped  upon  it.  All  the 
time  they  had  been  speaking  his  eyes  had  been  turned  away  from  hers. 
Once  or  twice  he  had  moved  as  if  he  were  going  to  say  good-bye,  and 
had  only  remained  because  of  some  question  or  remark  from  her. 
Suddenly  he  changed  his  place,  and  took  a chair  opposite  her.  As  he 
did  this  he  bent  forward,  and  by  some  chance  his  hand  for  a second 
touched  her  clasped  hands.  His  hand  was  withdrawn  in  an  instant; 
the  gesture  was  merely  accidental  and  unconscious,  but  the  feeling 
which  it  brought  was  like  that  of  an  electric  shock.  For  an  instant 
he  held  his  breath,  as  a man  might  do  who  fears  he  has  unconsciously 
let  out  a secret.  But  with  this,  too,  was  a personal  sense  of  surprise 
and  dismay  ; he  had  revealed  to  himself  his  own  secret.  That  could 
be  hidden  no  longer — from  him  at  least. 

When  his  hand  touched  hers,  Koorali  looked  up  at  first  a little  sur- 
prised. Of  course  she  knew  that  the  touch  was  unconscious,  inadver- 
tent, accidental,  and  yet  she  felt  her  forehead  grow  hot,  and  she  bent 
her  head  as  if  she  w ould  hide  some  sudden  expression  of  feeling.  She 
drew  herself  back  behind  a line  of  mental  reserve,  and  there  was  a 
moment’s  awkward  silence.  Each  felt,  each  feared  that  the  other 
knew  and  felt  also.  Then  there  was  a plunge  into  talk  again,  each 
rushing  at  the  opening  of  a conversation,  each  apparently  trying  to 
get  the  first  word.  Morse  had,  however,  quite  pulled  himself  together 
by  this  time.  He  had  come  there  with  the  intention  of  speaking  to 
Koorali  on  what  might  be  called  in  very  strictness  a matter  of  busi- 
ness. Under  the  fresh  charm  of  the  situation  and  their  talk,  he  had 
put  off  and  off  the  difficulty  he  found  in  approaching  it.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  was  determined  that  the  question  must  be  raised  at  once. 
His  own  feelings  of  a moment  ago  warned  him  that  he  must  come  to 
the  business  he  had  in  his  mind.  It  would  have  bad  to  come,  in  any 
case.  He  had  thought  it  out  for  some  time,  but  the  warning  his 
heart  had  just  given  him  was  only  another  reason  to  show  that  he  had 
thought  it  out  to  good  purpose.  So  he  stopped  her  rather  abruptly  in 
a little  speech  she  was  beginning  on  some  subject  in  which  she  had  no 
manner  of  interest.  As  lie  interrupted  her  he  got  up  and  stood  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand  ready  to  go.  The  moment  he  rose  Koorali  rose 
also.  She  did  not  know  why  ; it  looked  as  if  she  wanted  him  to  go — 
almost  seemed  ungracious,  she  thought. 

“Mrs.  Kenway,”  he  said,  “there’s  something  I wanted  to  say  to 
you.  Our  talk  yesterday  set  me  thinking  about  you  and  your  future. 
I don’t  know  why,  unless  it  was  because  you  seemed  so  contented  and 


“ONE  TOUCH  LIGHTS  UP  TWO  LAMPS ” 14$ 


like  you!*  real  self  in  this  place.  I don’t  think  the  life  of  London 
would  ever  quite  suit  you.  I fancy  that  I’ve  told  you  that  before, 
haven’t  I ? I think  you  might  be  happier,  and  that  it  might  be  better 
for  you  and  yours,  if  your  husband  got  an  appointment  which  would 
take  you  away  from  London.” 

He  watched  her  anxiously  as  he  spoke.  He  saw  that  she  did  not 
realize  the  full  import  of  this  tentative  suggestion  which  he  had  pre- 
pared so  carefully.  Her  face  took  the  blank  chill  look  that  comes  over 
the  face  of  a child  at  the  first  hint  that  its  holiday  must  end. 

“ Away  ? ” she  repeated.  “ Out  of  London  ? I don’t  know  that  I 
should  care  for  that,  Mr.  Morse,  though  I am  very  happy  here.  I am 
afraid  that  when  Crichton  comes  back,  this  simple,  dull  sort  of  life,  and 
my  satisfaction  with  it,  will  come  to  an  end,”  she  added,  with  a rather 
sad  little  laugh.  “There  will  be  so  much  more  needed  to  make  us 
happy — so  much  that  we  haven’t  got.  But  if  Crichton  is  fortunate 
enough  to  get  an  English  appointment,  it  must  be  in  London.” 

Morse  felt  a pang  of  pity  and  tenderness  at  her  half-unconscious 
revelation.  “ I suppose,”  he  said,  “ that  an  appointment  out  of  London 
would  mean  one  out  of  England.  Should  you  mind  that  very  much  ? ” 
She  looked  up  in  a startled  way,  and  met  his  eyes.  She  saw  the 
anxiety  in  his  face,  though  he  spoke  in  quite  unemotional  tones.  “ I 
— 1 don’t  know,”  she  said  falteringly.  “ I haven’t  thought  about  it 
lately.  I am  afraid  that  I lake  life  too  much  as  it  comes,  and  don’t 
trouble  sufficiently  about  the  morrow.” 

“ I wish  that  I could  keep  you  from  any  need  to  trouble  about  the 
morrow,”  he  exclaimed.  Then  he  went  on  with  insistent  emphasis. 
“Just  think  over  this  idea  of  a colonial  appointment,  Mrs.  Ken  way — 
that  is  what  I rnennt — and  tell  me  what  your  wishes  really  are.  Oddly 
enough,  when  I got  home  last  night,  I found  a letter  which  showed 
me  a chance  of  serving  you  in  that  way.” 

He  still  watched  her  intently.  A faint  flush  came  over  KoorMi’s 
face.  She  did  not  answer  at  once.  Then  she  said  in  a chilled  voice — 
“ Mr.  Morse,  you  are  very  good  to  us,  but  I don’t  feel  as  though  we 

had  any  right  to  be  considered.  Crichton  has  no  claim ” 

“Oh  yes,  Mrs.  Kenwav,  your  husband  has  a claim,  and  he  has 
interest,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  He  has  gained  a reputation, 
and  deservedly,  for  tact  and  knowledge  in  colonial  affairs.  He  will 
confer  a benefit  on  his  country  by  his  services.  That  is  the  way  to 
put  it.  He  has  more  or  less  identified  himself,  however,  with  me  and 
1 my  party,  and  I begin  to  doubt  more  and  more  whether  I shall  be  able 
to  accept  the  position  which — which,  you  know,  people  think  I am 
sure  to  have,  and  my  friends,  who  expect  to  see  me  in  such  a position, 
might  be  disappointed.  And  I think,  if  your  husband  would  take 
this  offer,  it  would  be  better  in  every  way.  I don’t  know  if  you  quite 
understand  ? ” 

Oh  yes ; she  quite  understood,  and  she  felt  ashamed.  Morse  knew 
that  her  husband  was  merely  looking  to  him  for  an  appointment. 
Morse  was  warning  him  through  her  that  after  the  elections  he  might 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


146 

not  be  able  to  do  all  that  Kenway  expected.  Morse  knew'aho  that 
Ivenway’s  tastes  and  habits  made  it  better  for  him  to  be  removed  from 
the  temptations  and  ambitions  and  social  competitions  and  moral 
dangers  of  a London  life. 

“ Yes,  I understand/’  she  said  sadly. 

After  he  had  gone,  Koorali  went  into  the  house.  The  children 
came  to  her  before  her  dinner.  Lance  was  making  a boat,  and  did  not 
care  to  talk  or  ask  questions,  but  little  Miles  crept  up  to  her  and 
begged  that  she  would  read  him  a story.  She  did  not  know  what 
it  was  that  made  her  voice  quaver  so  as  she  read.  Perhaps  it  was  be- 
cause the  story  was  a sad  one.  When  she  had  finished  and  had  put  the 
book  down,  Miles  said  to  her,  with  his  big  clear  eyes  lifted  to  her  face — 
“ Mother,  I want  you  to  do  something  for  me.” 

“ What  is  it,  dear  ? ” 

“I  want  you  to  tell  me  about  your  life.  A great  many  mothers  in 
books  write  the  stories  of  their  lives  and  different  things  to  amuse 
their  little  children.” 

“ What  sort  of  things ? What  do  you  want  to  know?” 

“ Oh,  everything!  What  you  did  when  you  were  a little  girl,  and 
why  you  married  father,  and  if  he  asked  you  or  you  asked  him.” 

“ You  foolish  child — women  never  ask  men  if  they’ll  marry  them.” 
“ Yes  they  do — in  leap  year — Amelia  says  so.  And  I want  to  know 
if  you  were  happy  when  you  married  father,  and  if  you  have  any  great 
secret  that  you  have  kept  all  your  life.” 

Koorali  bent  her  head,  and  laid  her  cheek  upon  the  boy’s  curls. 
“ What  great  secret  could  I have,  Miles  ?” 

“ Oh,  there’s  lots — in  books.  There  was  one  in  * The  Mysterious 
House  in  Chelsea.’  The  lady  was  in  love  with  another  man,  and  she 
was  afraid  her  husband  would  come  to  know  it.  But  Amelia  took  it 
away  from  me  before  I had  got  half  through  it.  Mother!  what’s 
the  matter  ? ” 

A great  drop  had  fallen  on  the  child’s  cheek.  Lance  broke  in — 

“ Miles  is  always  getting  hold  of  Amelia’s  books — marrying  and  love 
and  jolly  rot.  I wouldn’t  read  such  stuff.  When  I’m  a man  and  want 
to  get  married,  I’ll  do  as  father  says — go  straight  to  the  girl,  and  say, 
‘Now,  what  about  the  coin?”’ 

“ Was  that  what  father  said  to  you,  mother?  ” said  Miles,  still  in- 
quisitive, 

KoorMi  roused  herself.  She  laughed — a laugh  with  the  sound  of 
tears  in  it.  “Lance  is  quite  right.  Amelia’s  books  are  not  boy’s 
books,  and  boys  should  think  of  cricket  and  boats,  and  not  of  things 
that  only  older  people  have  to  do  with.  Good  night,  my  children.” 
She  ate  h<?r  lonely  dinner,  or  rather  made  a pretence  of  eating  it. 
As  she  was  leaving  the  dining-room,  the  maid  brought  in  a telegram, 
and  waited  to  see  if  there  was  any  answer  for  the  messenger  to  take 
back.  Koorali  opened  the  telegram.  A strange  horrible  chili  fell 
upon  her.  It  was  from  Crichton. 

“ I return  to-morrow.  Meet  train  arriving  Lyndchester  at  3.15.” 


“ONE  TOUCH  LIGHTS  UP  TWO  LAMP  SI  147 

“There  is  no  answer,”  Koorali  said  in  a mechanical  tone.  “Mr, 
Ken  way  is  coming  to-morrow.” 

The  maid  went  out.  For  a few  moments  Koorali  stood  by  the 
table  with  a dazed  frightened  look  on  her  face.  At  last,  at  last ! At 
this  moment  the  full  revelation  had  come  upon  her.  The  shock  she 
felt  at  the  news  of  Crichton’s  coming  told  her  all.  She  seemed  to  grow 
paler  and  paler,  and  her  dark  eyes  gazed  anxiously  into  vacancy. 
Steps  in  the  hall  brought  her  to  herself.  She  crushed  the  telegram  in 
her  hand  ; then,  remembering  Crichton’s  fussy  particularity — as  even 
in  agony  some  everyday  trifle  is  apt  to  cross  the  mind — and  fearing 
his  anger  if  any  mistake  were  made  as  to  the  hour  he  had  specified, 
she  smoothed  out  the  pink  paper  and  placed  it  on  the  mantel-piece, 
where  it  might  be  referred  to  if  necessary.  She  did  not  go  back  to  the 
sitting-room,  but  crept  upstairs  to  her  own  bedroom.  It  was  almost 
in  darkness.  The  window  was  open,  and  mingled  twilight  and  moon- 
light filled  it  with  shadows.  A bat  flew  in  and  circled,  making  its 
uncanny  noise,  and  she  could  hear  a corncrake  shrieking  in  the  meadow 
below.  She  stood  at  the  window  for  a minute  or  two  and  looked  out. 
The  river  and  the  fields  were  covered  with  a thick  white  mist,  like  a 
grave-cloth.  The  flame  of  the  furnace  opposite  was  leaping  wildly, 
showing  its  fierce  blaze  against  a bank  of  clouds.  As  she  watched, 
an  express  train  trailing  fiery  smoke  swept  like  a meteor  above  the 
level  of  the  mist. 

Koorali  shivered  and  turned  away.  She  could  not  bear  just  now  to 
100k  at  this  weird  scene,  so  unlike  any  other  scene  she  had  ever  known. 
Tossing  ocean,  or  desolate  stretch  of  bush  or  wild  headland,  might  have 
given  her  a sense  of  relief  and  anchorage.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
familiar  landmarks.  She  was  in  a new  world  of  experience,  of  emotion, 
of  dangers  that  she  had  never  feared  before  ; a world  in  which  there 
seemed  only  two  realities — her  children  and  this  great  terrible  love. 
For  she  knew  it  now.  She  knew  it  because  of  the  dread  and  repulsion 
she  had  felt  on  reading  her  husband’s  telegram.  She  might  have 
known  it  long  ago  had  she  not  allowed  herself  to  drift  on  in  fancied 
security,  never  pausing  to  think  or  to  analyze  her  own  feelings.  Yes  ; 
she  loved  Morse.  This  was  her  secret,  the  secret  no  one  might  share, 
which  she  must  hide  guiltily  from  her  boys’  clear  eyes  as  they  grew 
old  enough  to  understand  ; from  her  husband — from  the  world — from 
Lady  Betty,  sweet,  generous  Lady  Betty,  who  had  been  so  frankly 
kind  to  her — and  more  closely,  oh,  far  more  closely  still,  from  Morse 
himself ; yes,  if  possible,  from  Heaven. 

The  bat  came  wheeling  nearer  to  the  motionless  figure.  Koorali 
started  at  the  flapping  of  its  wings  near  her  head.  She  was  very  cold, 
but  she  would  not  go  down  to  the  sitting-room,  where  were  lamps  and 
the  tire  she  always  had  lighted  tor  company’s  sake.  She  wanted  to  be 
quiet  and  alone,  to  think  it  all  out.  Yet  somehow  she  could  not  think 
coherently.  She  could  only  go  back  upon  foolish  memories — Morse’s 
look  sometimes  when  she  found  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  little  irrelevant 
things  he  had  said. 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE; 


148 

There  was  a quaint  turret  chamber,  hardly  more  than  a closet,  lead- 
ing by  a flight  of  narrow  oak  steps  from  her  bedroom.  She  groped 
her  way  to  a door  in  the  wainscoting,  and  mounted  to  the  little  dim 
place,  which  was  bare,  and  lighted  only  by  the  moonbeams  creeping 
with  difficulty  through  the  ivy  tendrils  that  grew  over  the  tiny  window. 
She  seated  herself  as  a child  might  upon  the  topmost  step  of  the  little 
stair,  with  her  form  bent  forward,  and  her  arms  clasped  round  her 
knees,  and  her  eyes  wide  and  staring. 

She  sat  thus  for  a long  time.  This  hour  recalled  to  her  another 
hour  long  ago — the  hour  in  which  she  had  first  distinctly  acknow- 
ledged to  herself  that  her  husband’s  absence  was  ease,  his  presence 
pain.  That  discovery  had  come  upon  her  with  a shock  as  something 
horrible,  almost  incredible ; but  the  shock  had  been  of  a different  kind 
from  this.  She  had  been  able  to  face  it  calmly.  She  had  simply 
accepted  the  fact  that  her  marriage  was  a fatal  mistake — that  her  lot 
must  be  lonely,  her  existence  one  of  passive  endurance — that  love  and 
sympathy  were  not  for  her.  At  least,  she  had  believed  life  could  not 
be  complicated  by  stormy  passion.  If  her  thoughts  had  ever  glanced 
towards  the  one  possibility  she  had  most  reason  to  tremble  at,  she  had 
turned  them  quickly  away,  telling  herself  that  this  was  an  impossi- 
bility. And  now  the  impossibility  had  come  to  pass.  She  loved  with 
the  whole  strength  of  her  soul  a man  whom  she  was  forbidden  to  love, 
not  only  by  her  own  duties  as  wife  and  mother,  but  also  by  the  laws 
of  friendship  and  of  loyalty  between  woman  and  woman. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  PRIORY-ON-THE-WATER. 

Zenobia  had  taken  up  her  abode  at  the  Priory-on- the- Water  with  a 
fixed  determination  to  play  her  part  as  country  matron  in  becoming 
style.  She  started  with  a smiling  audacity  which  was  characteristic 
of  her.  There  was  something  rather  American  in  her  “cute”  sim- 
plicity. Her  experience  of  this  phase  of  English  society  was  limited. 
When  not  living  with  her  step-mother,  who,  to  use  Zenobia’s  own 
expression,  was  “ beastly  bad  form,”  she  had  spent  her  time  in  foreign 
hotels.  Now  she  meant  to  be  “ the  real  thing,  and  no  mistake,”  t > go 
in  for  farming,  or  at  any  rate,  knowing  all  about  it,  garden  parties, 
county  balls,  county  politics,  sport,  and  anything  that  occurred  to  her 
as  being  suitable  to  the  situation.  She  set  about  her  task  with  a good 
deal  of  enthusiasm,  and  in  a generous  spirit.  There  seemed  to  her 
something  fine  and  heroic  in  restoring  the  Kenways  to  their  ancestral 
home  and  in  refounding  the  family,  so  to  speak,  with  her  fortune. 
This  was  her  theory.  In  practice,  comfort  was  her  first  consideration. 
She  intended  to  make  Eustace  and  herself  thoroughly  comfortable. 
She  thought  of  Eustace  quite  as  much  as  of  herself.  It  was  a great 
disappointment  to  find  that  an  old  leather  arm-chair,  an  oak  bureau 


THE  PRIOR  Y-  ON-  THE - WA  TER . 


149 


that  n light  have  been  in  a cottage,  and  an  unlimited  supply  of  cigars 
and  French  novels,  were  all  that  Eustace  seemed  to  require  to  make 
him  happy.  She  had  begun  by  lining  the  walls  of  his  study  with 
stamped  leather  of  new  and  fashionable  design — a wonderful  combina- 
tion of  old  gold,  browns,  and  reds;  had  hung  up  'portieres  of  imitation 
Gobelin  tapestry,  and  had  ordered  from  Tottenham  Court  Road  the 
most  sombrely  gorgeous  and  most  complicated  modern  suite  which 
the  art  of  upholsterer  could  produce  for  the  delectation  of  amateur 
country  gentlemen.  Eustace,  however,  rebelled  against  the  chairs 
which  concealed,  in  their  capacious  arms  and  under  their  stuffing, 
cigarette  caskets  and  ash  receptacles,  reading-desks,  trays  and 
tumblers,  and  other  conveniences.  He  declined  the  magnificent 
writing-table,  with  its  appliances  for  reducing  literary  labour  to  a 
minimum,  and  ordered  in  the  old  arm-chair  and  the  bureau  which 
Zenobia  had  sent  to  the  lumber-room. 

“ My  dear  child,”  he  said  to  her  in  his  elaborate  manner,  “ pray 
consult  your  own  taste  as  regards  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  play 
about  among  the  relics  as  much  as  you  please,  but  do  me  the  inesti- 
mable favour  to  respect  my  notions  of  comfort,  which  are  elementary, 
I admit.  I can’t  smoke  and  go  to  sleep  and  enjoy  ‘ Richard  Omun- 
roy  * when  I’m  leaning  against  new  Russian  leather  that  makes  me 
smell  all  the  day  like  a freshly  bound  Christmas  gift-book.” 

Eustace  Kenway  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  part  of  country  gentle- 
man. He  had  not  his  brother’s  power  of  adaptability  or  his  brother’s 
ambition.  He  could  not  shoot  well,  and  he  thought  hunting  a great 
deal  of  trouble  for  nothing.  School  boards  and  petty  sessions  were 
beyond  him,  and  he  did  not.  feel  any  interest  in  crops  or  in  short- 
horns, and  hated  young  lambs,  except  with  the  accompaniments  of 
green  peas  and  mint  sauce.  He  was  very  colourless.  If  he  had  any 
special  tendency,  it  was  in  the  direction  of  art,  but  he  had  always 
been  too  poor  or  too  lazy  to  cultivate  it.  He  winced  a little  at 
Zenobia’s  robust  and  vigorous  attacks  on  life,  in  which  she  got  all  she 
couid  out  of  it.  It  seemed  to  him  like  seeing  a boxing  match.  She 
jarred  a good  deal  upon  his  nerves.  He  sometimes  suggested  that 
there  was  a want  of  repose  in  her  manners.  Her  energy  appeared  to 
him  like  that  of  a flail ; but  it  was  a point  of  honour  with  him  not 
to  interfere  in  her  way  of  amusing  herself.  He  did  not  suppose  that 
the  country  craze  would  last  long,  and  then,  he  concluded,  they  would 
go  to  Paris  or  London,  where  he  could  always  find  enjoyment.  So 
Zenobia,  left  to  her  own  devices,  did  play  about  among  the  relics. 
She  ordered  down  an  army  of  workmen  and  upholsterers,  and  very 
soon  effected  not  a mere  change,  but  rather  a radical  revolution  in  the 
appearance  of  the  Priory-on- the- Water. 

Crichton  Ken  wav  and  his  wife  did  not  come  on  the  2nd,  as  Zenobia 
bad  suggested.  Morse’s  shooting  party  took  phce  on  the  1st,  and 
Crichton  was  not  willing  to  miss  it.  He  was  particularly  anxious  to 
appear  on  good  terms  with  the  coming  man,  as  Morse  was  considered, 
and  then  the  bachelor  party  was  very  pleasant  for  him.  Lord  Arden 


150  “THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 

was  in  it,  and  the  two  or  three  fellows  of  whom  Morse  h&d  spoken 
turned  out  to  be  young  politicians  of  distinction  ; men  to  talk  with 
ab'»ut  the  coming  elections.  Crichton  did  not  look  forward  either 
with  very  great  pleasure  to  visiting  his  brother  in  the  refurbished 
ancestral  home,  though  he  created  quite  a pretty  part  for  himself  as  a 
sort  of  deposed  sovereign,  joked  about  the  primitive  simplicity  of  the 
Grey  Manor,  and  never  let  any  one  forget  that  he  was  the  eldest  son, 
and  should  by  right  be  reigning  at  the  Priory.  No  one  took  any 
trouble  to  inquire  hack  into  the  Kenway  genealogy,  and,  on  the  whole, 
Crichton  made  an  excellent  impression  in  the  county  as  a capital  shot, 
a likely  man  in  the  hunting  field,  and  a clever,  affable  fellow,  quite  in 
the  first  rank  of  society.  Altogether  it  was  felt  to  be  a great  pity 
that  he  had  not  secured  the  heiress.  No  one  thought  much  of 
Eustace,  who  seemed  too  lazy  even  to  fall  off  a horse. 

Crichton  was  asked  to  dine  and  sleep  at  Bromswold,  and  to  shoot  on 
the  following  day.  Lady  Betty  had  not  yet  returned,  though  she  was 
expected  the  next  week,  and  therefore  Koorali  was  not  included  in 
the  invitation.  She  had  not  seen  Morse  since  that  night  of  self- 
revelation. She  sometimes  wondered  within  herself  how  it  would  be 
possible  for  her  to  talk  to  him  ever  again  in  the  old,  free,  unembar- 
ra  sed  manner,  and  wTas  glad  to  think  that  she  was  going  away  for  a 
little  while,  and  would  meet  him,  if  she  must  meet  him,  in  the  Priory 
atmosphere,  and  not  amid  the  melancholy,  poetic  surroundings  of  the 
Grey  Manor. 

Zenobia  drove  over  on  the  afternoon  of  the  2nd  to  see  her  sister-in- 
law.  She  looked  an  odd,  incongruous  figure  in  her  startling  French 
costume,  as  she  stood  in  the  bare  hall  and  gazed  round  her,  and  then 
at  Koorali,  with  an  expression  of  sympathetic  dismay.  So  thought 
Arden,  who  had  slipped  away  from  the  shooters  and  had.  found  his  way 
along  ti  e river  to  call  on  Koontli. 

“Well!  I don’t  wonder  that  you  like  London  best,”  said  Zenobia 
abruptly,  after  having  drawn  a deep  breath. 

“But  1 don’t  think  I do  like  London  best,”  replied  KoorMi,  with 
her  gentle  smile.  “ We  are  very  happy  here,  the  boj^s  and  I.” 

Zenobia’s  high-heeled  French  shoes  clacked  on  the  stone  floor  as 
she  walked  round  and  inspected  the  dilapidated  oak  panelling. 

“ I should  want  a lot  of  things  done  to  make  me  comfortable  in  this 
place,”  she  said  frankly;  and  one  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  was 
on  the  point  of  saying,  “ beastly  place.” 

“ What  sort  of  things,  Mrs.  Eustace  Kenway?”  asked  Lord  Arden, 
coming  forward.  “I  should  like  very  much  to  kuow  what  would 
make  you  happy.” 

“Why,  Persian  carpets  and  big  screens  to  keep  out  the  draughts, 
and  divans  and  blue  china,  and  pots  and  pans,  don’t  you  know?  and 
palm-trees,  and  a man  in  armour  dotted  about  here  and  there.” 

“ Two  or  three  ancient  liomans  dug  out  of  the  encampment  ? ” 
suggested  Arden.  “ Have  you  got  any  for  the  Priory,  Mrs.  Eustace  ? ” 
“I’ve  ordered  three  Crusaders,”  replied  Zen  promptly.  “I  suppose 


THE  PRIOR Y-ON-THE-IVA  TER. 


i$i 

they  can  be  got  somewhere — at  Whiteley’s,  perhaps,  don’t  yoti  think? 
Mv  goodness,  KoonUi,  you  do  look  thin  and  pale ! Have  you  been 
ill?” 

The  blood  rushed  to  Koor&li’s  face,  making  it  white  no  longer.  The 
change  in  her  whs  indeed  noticeable.  It  had  struck  Arden  ti  e instant 
be  saw  her,  and  he  had  been  full  of  pain  and  wonder,  certain  that 
some  secret  trouble  weighed  upon  her.  She  whs  wan, and  her  features 
seemed  sharper,  while  her  eyes  had  the  strained,  smarting  look  which 
betokens  tears  kept  resolutely  back.  She  had  suffered  much  during 
the  past  few  days.  Every  word  and  look  of  Crichton’s  had  probed  her 
wound.  He  had  come  home  in  the  mood  for  endearments,  which  he 
commanded,  rather  than  entreated,  and  Koorali’s  repulsion  to  kisses, 
accepted  by  her  hitherto  as  a fact  in  her  life  to  be  patiently  submitted 
to,  had  now  become  keen  agony  and  humiliation. 

Seeing  her  embarrassment  at  Zenobia’s  abrupt  exclamation,  Arden 
said,  “ I have  been  telling  Mrs.  Ken  way  that  I don’t  think  the  river 
mists  agree  with  her.” 

“ She  must  have  a change  right  away,”  said  Zenobia  with  energy, 
and,  turning  to  Koorali,  added,  “ What  day  have  you  and  Crichton 
fixed  upon?  I am  very  angry  with  you  for  putting  me  off.  He  could 
have  shot  at  Bromswold  just  as  well  from  us,  couldn’t  he  now,  Lord 
Arden  ? ” 

“ We  are  coming  on  Monday,”  said  KoorMi. 

“ And  you,  Lord  Arden  ? ” continued  Zenobia,  “ you  and  Mr.  Morse  ? 
You  are  going  to  shoot  and  stop  for  dinner.  The  Admiral  Nevile- 
Beauchamp  is  to  be  with  us,  and  a London  masher  for  Jo.  It  will  be 
a queer  kind  of  party — a little  of  all  sorts.  London  swells  and  Steve 
Dobito,  yeoman.” 

“ I have  heard  a great  deal  about  Steve  Dobito,”  said  Lord  Arden. 
“ I particularly  want  to  meet  him.  He  is  a man  with  views.” 

“He  is  very  anxious  to  improve  Mr.  Morse’s  mind,”  said  Zenobia, 
“and  so  I thought  I’d  just  give  him  a chance.  Eustace  and  Mrs. 
Nevile  said  that  dinner  parties  wouldn’t  be  in  his  line,”  pursued  Zen 
reflectively.  “I  shouldn’t  think  they  were  much:  but  if  he  wants 
bis  pudding  before  his  meat,  why,  he  shall  have  it.” 

“I  don’t  know  that  there  is  any  eternal  principle  involved  in  the 
eating  one’s  meat  before  one’s  pudding,”  Arden  sa;d  reflectively. 

“I  think  puddings  beastly  anyhow  and  anywhere,’ Zen  affirmed, 
with  all  the  warmth  of  evident  sincerity.  “ But  you  know,  Lord 
Arden,  it  wasn’t  that  I meant.  I only  meant  that  I wanted  the  poor 
man  to  have  his  way.  I wasn’t  thinking  about  puddings.” 

“ Dear  Zen,  I am  sure  Lord  Arden  quite  understood  that  you  wero 
speaking  the  language  of  metaphor,”  Koorali  said,  with  a compassionate 
smile,  poor  Zen  seemed  so  eager  to  vindicate  herself. 

“ One  don’t  want  to  be  thought  to  be  always  talking  nonsense  and 
vulgarity,”  Zen  pleaded  apologetically. 

“ You  always  talk  very  good  sense,”  Lord  Arden  said  gravely,  and 
with  a determined  effort  to  break  tkroTigh  his  habitual  shyness,  stud 


r;2  “ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE* 

say  exactly  what  he  felt  and  what  he  wanted  to  say,  “ and  ^here  never 
could  be  vulgarity  where  there  Ls  no  affectation.” 

“ Come,  now,  ain’t  that  nice  ? ” Zen  said,  and  a dash  of  colour  came 
into  her  face.  In  truth,  Lord  Arden  saw  as  clearly  as  Koorali  did  the 
truthfulness,  the  womanliness,  underneath  that  Parisian  bodice;  the 
shrewd  honest  good  sense  in  that  little  black  cropped  head,  and  which 
all  Zen’s  own  ivory  brushes,  and  all  the  ivory  brushes  “brandished” 
by  Disraeli’s  duchesses,  could  not  scrub  out  of  it. 

Koorali  felt  a little  vague  enthusiasm  as  they  approached  the  Priory 
on  the  appointed  day.  She  glanced  at  her  husband  as  they  drove  up 
the  village  street,  to  see  if  the  place  awakened  old  memories.  She 
could  have  felt  much  sympathy  with  him  in  such  a mood.  But  he 
was  leaning  back  in  the  carriage  looking  sullen  and  perplexed.  She 
seemed  to  know  by  a sort  of  flashing  instinct  that  he  was  weighing 
the  for  and  against  Morse’s  accession  to  power,  and  speculating  with 
an  absolutely  concentrated  regard  to  his  own  interest  whether  it 
might  not  be  wiser  to  accept  the  proverbial  “bird  in  the  hand,”  than 
to  wait  for  the  problematical  “ two  in  the  bush.”  To  her  surprise  he 
did  not  seem  to  know  how  to  direct  the  coachman  when  the  latter 
appealed  to  him,  and  they  were  obliged  to  ask  the  way  to  the  Priory 
of  an  old  man  by  the  roadside. 

“ I suppose  that  you  were  very  young  when  you  went  away  from  the 
place?”  slie  said,  wondering  a little,  for  she  had  often  heard  him  speak 
of  his  “ old  home.” 

“ My  father  left  it  before  I was  born,”  he  answered  shortly.  There 
was  silence  again,  and  she  had  no  remark  to  make  on  the  quaint  arched 
gateway  'with  a grey  stone  pigeon-cote  on  either  side. 

The  house  was  an  imposing  structure,  a massive  pile,  with  two 
wings  forming  stables  and  offices,  connected  with  the  maiu  building  by 
high  battlemented  walls.  These  were  curved,  so  that  the  whole  block 
was  in  the  shape  of  a semicircle  with  a gigantic  yew  hedge,  cut  into 
pyramids  and  turrets,  at  its  base.  The  pride  of  the  Priory  lay  in  its 
yew  hedges  and  in  the  terraced  garden  at  the  back.  This  could  be 
seen  easily  as  the  carriage  wound  up  a gentle  slope,  for  here  the  Lynde 
valley  narrowed,  and  on  one  side  the  ground  rose  higher  than  is  usual 
in  that  flat  county.  Three  broad  terraces  built  up  with  stone  led 
down  to  the  river.  The  massive  walls  were  buttressed,  each  buttress 
surmounted  by  a weather-beaten  statue.  In  the  embrasures,  great 
trees  of  myrtle  and  magnolia  flourished,  and  there  were  quaint  borders 
like  the  border  at  the  miil,  and  scarred  steps  and  balustrades,  and 
a rose  garden  where  the  rose  bushes  were  not  stiff  straight  standards, 
but  wandered  at  their  sweet  will.  Upon  none  of  these  things  had 
Zenobia  yet  had  time  to  lay  the  desolating  hands  of  reform. 

The  drive  swept  to  the  front  of  the  house  within  the  yew  hedge,  and 
round  a smooth  stretch  of  lawn  that  had  once  been  a bowling-green. 
An  ancient  sun-dial  stood  opposite  the  hall  door.  The  building  was 
of  the  famous  grey  stone,  but  disfigured  as  far  as  tho  natural  veining 
and  pallid  hue  would  permit,  for  Zen,  in  her  ardour  for  cleanliness, 


THE  PRIOR  Y-ON-  THE-  IV A TER. 


'S3 


had  scraped  off  the  reddish  brown  lichen,  had  pruned  away  the  ivy 
and  clematis,  and  had  ruthlessly  uprooted  the  seedlings  which  the 
birds  had  sown  in  the  crannies  and  on  the  tops  of  the  old  walls. 

Two  powdered  footmen  threw  open  the  doors.  There  was  a sound 
of  voices  and  laughter  as  they  were  led  into  the  large  inner  hall,  which 
looked  comfortable  indeed,  and  picturesque,  notwithstanding  its  odd 
jumble  of  the  traditional  and  the  essentially  modern — of  the  Palais 
Royal  and  Plessis-les-Tours,  and  though  the  saucy  little  tables,  the 
downy  chairs,  the  gorgeous  divans  in  Persian  tapestry,  the  glowing 
carpets  of  velvet  pile,  the  tambourines  painted  after  Van  Beers,  and 
the  porcelain  monkeys  hanging  on  to  the  screens,  seemed  at  variance 
with  the  groined  ceiling,  the  Gothic  arches  of  the  oak  staircase,  and 
the  carved  mantel  with  its  coat  of  arms,  which  Zen  firmly  believed  to 
be  the  rightful  trophy  of  the  Kenways. 

The  gentlemen  had  come  in  from  shooting.  Morse,  looking  very 
stately  aud  handsome  and  somehow  unlike  himself  in  hi-s  rough  gear, 
stood  by  the  fireplace  talking  to  Eustace,  who  was  twirling  a cigarette 
between  his  delicate  fingers.  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp,  in  a Redfern 
costume,  which  subtty  combined  the  aesthetic  and  the  rural,  and  the 
most  exquisite  leather  boots  crossed  in  an  attitude  that  revealed  a 
modest  isthmus  of  scarlet  silk  stocking,  lounged  on  one  of  the  divans 
Miss  Jo,  very  demure  and  sleek,  made  tea,  with  the  Admiral  and  the 
well-got-up  and  extremely  talkative  ‘‘masher"  in  attendance.  Zen 
herself,  was  seated  upon  a plush  pouf,  which  was  a triumph  of  Parisian 
art.  It  was  intended  to  represent  a large  toadstool  in  the  natural 
sickly  yellow,  and  had  green  satin  frogs  clustering  round  the  stem. 
She  herself  looked  as  incongruous  as  the  toadstool,  her  healthy  brown 
British  face,  her  curly  black  crop,  her  square  shoulders  and  substantial 
limbs  being  very  much  out  of  keeping  with  her  French  tea-gown  ot 
old  gold  plush,  elaborately  adorned  with  cascades  of  lace — a garment 
that  Sarah  Bernhardt  might  have  appropriately  worn  in  “Frou-Frou," 
and  with  her  high-heeled  embroidered  shoes  and  old  gold  stockings. 

There  was  a flutter  among  the  group  as  Ivoorali  and  her  husband 
entered.  Eustace  languidly  greeted  his  brother,  and  Zen  embraced 
her  sister-in-law  with  effusion.  Morse  did  not  at  once  come  forward, 
but  Kooiali  had  seen  him  the  instant  her  glance  swept  the  room.  As 
he  looked  at  the  little  face  framed  by  a black  hat  with  drooping 
feathers,  he  fancied  that  the  slender  form  round  which  her  soft  dark 
draperies  hung,  it  seemed  to  him  like  the  draperies  of  no  other  woman, 
was  even  slenderer  and  more  fragile  than  when  he  had  last  seen  it  not 
many  days  ago. 

Some  women,  though  they  may  be  insignificant  of  stature,  unasser- 
tive and  absolutely  unconscious  of  any  wish  to  make  an  effect,  are 
given,  in  recompense,  a certain  magnetic  power  of  arresting  and  absorb- 
ing attention.  As  Koorali  stood  and  untwisted  the  lace  scarf  from  her 
throat,  she  was,  for  the  moment,  the  one  object  of  interest  to  every 
eye  in  the  room.  It  was  as  though  the  chief  actress  in  the  drama  had 
appeared  suddenly  on  the  sceua  There  was  about  Koor&li  that  sug- 
11 


154 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE » 


gestion  of  tragic  story,  lived  through  or  yet  to  come,  that  mark  of 
Destiny’s  cross,  which  one  sees  now  and  again  in  the  face  and  form  of 
man  or  woman,  which  is  so  unmistakable  and  so  hard  to  explain  or 
describe. 

Morse  shook  hands  gravely,  almost  silently,  with  Koor&U,  and  then 
drew  back.  Arden  pushed  forward  a chair.  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp 
made  her  proper  little  speech,  and  the  “ masher,”  Mr.  Erie,  changed 
the  tap  of  his  conversation  from  lawn  tennis  to  Lord  and  Lady  Beau- 
mont’s place  in  the  Highlands,  where  he  had  expected  to  meet  Koorali. 
He  had  once  taken  her  down  to  dinner  at  their  house  in  London. 

Mr.  Erie  was  a young  man  rich  in  conversational  resources.  He 
was  in  diplomacy,  and  was  making  fair  progress,  chiefly  by  virtue  of 
his  resolve  always  to  talk  on  the  right  subject  to  the  right  person.  He 
had  just  come  from  Copenhagen,  and  had  ambitious  hope  of  Washing- 
ton. Koorali  was  not  long  in  observing  that  he  had  the  proper  tap  of 
conversation  always  ready  to  turn  on.  He  had  chaff  for  Zen ; he 
talked  politics  with  a subdued  deferential  air  when  he  was  speaking  to 
Morse ; the  air  of  one  who  says,  “ I know  my  future  master ; I may 
offer  my  meek  suggestions,  but  of  course  I await  his  commands  ; ” he 
conversed  of  hunting  and  old  county  families  to  Crichton,  and  thereby 
secured  at  once  the  good  opinion  of  that  scion  of  ancient  line.  He 
angled  about  a good  deal  with  Koorali,  not  being  quite  certain  where 
to  have  her.  He  tried  high  life,  because  he  understood  that  she  was 
a friend  of  Lady  Betty  Morse;  and  then  he  tried  Bohemia;  and  neither 
was  successful,  as  he  could  see  at  a glance.  Then  he  ventured  on 
views  of  life  itself ; and  after  a while  was  lucky  enough  to  have  the 
conversation  interrupted. 

“ You  see  we  are  refreshing  ourselves,”  said  Zenobia,  in  her  abrupt 
voice.  “ Will  you  have  some  tea,  or  some  sherry  and  bitters  ? ” 

Koorali  shook  her  head  at  the  sherry  and  bitters,  and  asked  for  tea, 
which  Morse  brought  her,  and  a few  commonplaces  were  exchanged 
about  the  chive  and  the  relative  distance  of  Bromswold  and  the  Grey 
Manor.  Koorali’s  voice  was  constrained. 

“ I beg  to  state  that  I am  not  drinking  sherry  and  bitters  because  I 
like  such  stuff,”  continued  Zen,  “ but  because  I’ve  had  neuralgia  all 
day.  It’s  nerves.  Eustace  thinks  I haven’t  any  right  to  have  nerves. 
I’ve  bought  them  from  Jo — haven't  I Jo  ? She’s  a Nevile-Beauchamp, 
and  can  spare  them.” 

Eustace  looked  annoyed,  and  Crichton  put  in  with  a cheerful  laugh  — 

u By  Jove,  if  you  want  to  make  that  sort  of  investment,  my  wife  is 
the  person  to  apply  to.” 

“ We’ve  been  in  a muddle,”  said  Zen.  “ Haven’t  we,  Jo  ? The  fur- 
niture people  hav'fc  only  just  gone  away.  I’m  going  to  show  you  my 
diggings  presently  ; I think  they’ll  do.  I have  been  having  a battle 
with  Mr.  Morse,”  she  went  on  in  her  discursive  fashion,  “ because  I’m 
a Conservative,  and  I’ve  joined  the  Primrose  League.  Are  you  a 
Liberal  or  a Conservative,  Koorali?  Will  you  give  me  your  name? 
If  1 can  get  thirteen  names,  I can  have  the  Priory  made  into  a * habi- 


THE  PRIOR V-ON-THE- WATER. 


155 

tation,’  and  then  I shall  got  asked  to  such  a lot  of  lovely  functions. 
Mr.  Morse,  if  you’d  have  a Republican  League,  and  Lady  Betty  would 
start  a pretty  costume  for  it — say  crowns  and  sceptre?  upside  down, 
done  in  gold  embroidery  on  an  eaii  de  Nil  ground — something  newer 
and  more  decided  than  primroses,  I think  I’d  join  your  party  and 
become  a Radical.” 

There  was  a general  laugh.  Every  one  knew  Lady  Betty’s  royalist 
devotion.  Morse  laughed  too;  he  never  lost  his  sense  of  humour. 
Zenobia  distinguished  herself  by  some  more  remarks  in  the  same  strain. 

“ Come,  Mrs.  Kenway,  is  that  your  notion  of  political  morality?” 
said  Lord  Arden,  turning  to  her  with  a serio-comic  expression.  “ There 
is  no  doubt  that  the  tailor  who  invented  the  primrose  skirt  will  be  an 
influence  in  deciding  the  elections.  The  Admiral  is  grieved.  He  spent 
some  time,  while  we  were  waiting  at  Dingle  Corner  for  the  Irish  stew 
to  arrive,  in  trying  to  persuade  me  that  women  were  worthy  of  a vote, 
and  you  contradict  all  his  arguments  by  insisting  on  being  frivolous.” 

“ No ! Really ! ” exclaimed  bland  Mr.  Nevile-Beauchamp — he  of  the 
drawl;  Zen  called  him  the  “ Interjectional  Inquirer,”  because  he  never 
opened  his  mouth  except  to  utter  an  ejaculation  or  to  ask  a question. 
“ Ought  women  to  have  a vote?” 

“ I tell  you  what  converted  me,”  said  the  Admiral,  a short  man  with 
a snarling  voice  and  goggle  eyes  like  those  of  a pug.  “ I was  once  stay- 
ing in  a country  house  where  there  were  five  men  and  seven  ladies. 
The  Channel  tunnel  question  came  under  our  quarter.  The  men,  with 
the  exception  of  myself,  were  for  it.  The  ladies  voted  with  me  against 
it.  Now,  women  are  always  sick.” 

“What  ? ” asked  the  Inquirer,  bending  forward.  He  was  a little  deaf. 

“ Sick — sea-sick,  don’t  you  know,”  said  the  Admiral  shortly.  “ The 
only  argument  I can  see  in  favour  of  the  tunnel  is  that  it  saves  the 
crossing  for  people  who  get  sick.  Now,  I said  to  myself,  if  women, 
who  are  always  sea-sick,  can  be  so  disinterested  in  this  one  question, 
they  are  capable  of  having  a voice  in  others ; and  that’s  how  they  got 
me  round.” 

Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp  purred  her  contribution  to  the  conversation 
in  her  thin  staccato  voice,  with  her  chin  poked  forward.  The  Admiral 
was  quite  in  the  wrong.  He  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it.  She  was 
quite  sure  that  no  one  nice  could  ever  want  women  to  have  votes. 
She  had  been  staying  with  a certain  “ Balloch  ” and  " Lady  Harriet.” 
Lady  Harriet  was  quite,  quite  crazy  on  “woman’s  rights.”  She  won- 
dered how  any  one  could  make  a friend  of  Lady  Harriet,  who  was 
certainly  “ very  smart,”  but  quite  the  ugliest  woman  and  so  strong- 
minded  ! 

“ I don’t  want  to  put  women  into  Parliament,”  said  Zen.  “ I think 
there  are  lots  of  things  more  interesting  than  that.  In  fact,  I think 
the  primrose  people  beastly  slow,  nearly  as  bad  as  my  guardians.  I 
should  like  to  make  something  happen  to  me.  Nothing  has  ever 
happened  to  me  in  my  life,  except  getting  married.  I’ve  got  no  line 
of  fate.  If  you  look  at  ray  hand,  you’ll  see.” 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


156 

There  was  something  comically  wistful  in  her  expression  as  she  held 
out  her  square  palm.  Mr.  Erie  took  it  in  his,  and  turned  on  the  tap 
of  chiromancy.  Eustace  rose.  Zen  looked  at  him. 

“ What  are  you  beckoning  to  the  Admiral  for?”  she  asked.  “ Where 
are  you  going  to  take  him  and  Mr.  Morse?” 

“ We  are  going  to  play  billiards.  Come,  Crichton.” 

The  Admiral  and  Crichton  followed  him,  also  Mr.  Nevile-Beau- 
champ.  Morse  remained. 

Zen’s  face  flushed  a little,  and  she  heaved  a petulant  sigh  as  the 
door  closed  behind  them.  “ That’s  Eustace’s  polite  way  of  letting  me 
know  that  my  conversation  bores  him.  Well,  we’ve  got  rid  of  the 
husbands,  any  way,  that’s  one  comfort.  The  e must  be  a reaction, 
you  know ; flesh  and  blood  can’t  stand  it.  You  can’t  always  keep 
your  loins  girt  and  your  lamps  burning.” 

Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp  took  up  her  crewel  work  in  a protesting 
manner.  Lord  Arden  laughed. 

“ Your  views  on  matrimony  are  not  any  more  encouraging  than 
your  political  opinions,  Mrs.  Eustace.” 

“Well,”  returned  Zen,  frankly,  “I  don’t  know  why  girls  are  such 
blessed  fools  as  to  marry  ; do  you,  Koorali  ? Some  of  them  do  it  for 
a trousseau  and  to  be  independent  of  their  guardians,  and  they’re  given 
very  small  change  for  their  money.  Thai’s  all  I can  say.  The  man 
gets  everything,  and  the  woman  gets  nothing  except  snubbing — unless 
she’s  a c — cat,”  and  Zen  stole  a side  glance  at  the  Admiral’s  wife. 

“ The  man  gets  everything?”  repeated  Lord  Arden.  “Let  us  con- 
sider the  question.  It’s  a very  interesting  one — to  me,  as  a bachelor, 
at  any  rate.  Let  us  see — what  does  the  average  man  gain  by  marriage 
in  comparison  with  the  average  woman  ? ” 

“ A home,”  sententiously  observed  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp. 

“ From  which  he  is  supposed  to  absent  himself  between  breakfast 
a..d  dinner,”  Lord  Arden  said. 

“There’s  no  place  like  home,”  said  Zen  sentimenfally  ; and  then 
lecovering  added,  “So  the  husband  seems  to  think,  and  that’s  why  he 
likes  any  other  place  better.” 

“But  come — what  does  the  average  man  get  by  marriage?”  Lord 
Arden  persisted. 

“The  right  to  flirt  without  danger  of  an  action  for  breach  of 
promise,”  said  Mr.  Erie. 

“ But  with  the  danger  of  a jolly  good  wigging  from  his  wife,”  said 
Zen. 

“I  have  heard  it  declared,”  Morse  observed,  “ that  he  gets,  if  he  is 
lucky,  illusion  converted  into  delusion.  But  that  isn’t  my  definition.” 

“ Can’t  we  have  Lord  Arden’s  own  views?  ” Koorali  asked. 

“The  man  falls  into  bondage,”  said  Lord  Arden.  “The  woman 
emancipates  herself.  Here’s  a case.  Take  a girl — one  of  three  or  four 
sisters — who  has  been  out  several  seasons.  Other  sisters  are  coming 
on.  Dressing  up  has  got  to  be  a bore.  She  is  tired  of  standing  in  the 
market  Sbe  marries.  There  is  no  further  necessity  to  dress  up,  for 


THE  PRIOR  Y-  ON - THE-  WA  TER. 


157 

a practical  end.  She  has  got  her  promotion.  She  has  got  her  liberty. 
She  can  go  to  the  theatre  with  a pleasant  little  party  of  men  and 
women,  and  sup  at  the  Orleans,  without  her  husband.  She  has  got 
pin-money,  settlements,  new  dresses,  and  a house  of  her  own.  We 
needn’t  mention  love.  I suppose  that  passes.” 

“My!  ain’t  we  cynical!”  Zen  exclaimed.  “What  wisdom  to  be 
sure!  Haven’t  we  studied  the  question,  to  be  sure?  Bachelors’  wives 
and  maids’  children  are  well  managed,  we  all  know  ! ” 

“Women  are  narrow,”  pursued  Arden  composedly.  “They  only 
care  for  their  own  occupations.  They  don’t  take  the  trouble  to  grasp 
their  husband's  interests.  The  husband  goes  home.  What  does  he 
find?  A stupid  wife  who  can’t  or  won’t  talk  to  him  on  his  subjects. 
Ten  to  one  she  is  dying  to  go  out  and  show  off  a new  dress.  She  ain’t 
contented  to  go  out  alone.  She  wants  her  husband — not  for  the 
pleasure  of  his  society,  but  because  she  wants  him  to  bring  her  home 
again.  And  supposing  that  they  go  in  for  a domestic  evening,  two 
armchairs  by  the  fire  and  so  forth.  He  sits  down  in  one.  Then,  as 
I said,  what  is  there  lo  talk  about?  There  soon  comes  this  sort  of 
feeling,”  and  he  comically  drew  his  hand  across  his  throat. 

“ I don’t  know  anything  about  it,”  said  Morse  with  an  air  of  forced 
gaiety.  “Betty  and  I never  get  a chance  of  an  evening  to  ourselves. 
Never  shall,  I suppose.  I don’t  know  what  you  are  talking  about.” 

“ There’s  something  in  what  Arden  says,”  exclaimed  Mr.  Erie,  who 
seemed  impressed  by  the  view  of  the  question.  “ Why  do  we  marry  ? 
Because  we  are  fools.  Mrs.  Eustace  Ken  way  is  right.  It’s  like  duck 
shooting.  See  what  one  goes  through  for  the  sake  of  one  duck — and 
when  you’ve  got  him!  It’s  the  same  thing.  I fall  in  love.  I propose. 
Why?  She  is  wearing  a colour  I admire,  or  we’ve  been  dancing 
together  to  a waltz  I like,  or  I’ve  got  a hi  tie  too  much  champagne  on 
board ! ” 

“ We  haven’t  heard  a word  of  Mrs.  Crichton  Kenway’s  views  on  the 
great  matrimonial  question,  and  the  relative  gains  and  losses  of  man 
and  woman,”  Arden  suggested. 

Morse  wTas  drawing  out  of  the  conversation,  but  he  checked  himself 
now,  and  he  looked  at  Koorali,  who  started  a little  and  saw  that  ah 
eyes  were  on  her. 

“ Oh,  please  leave  me  out,”  she  pleaded,  quite  earnestly.  “ I don’t 
even  speak  the  language.” 

“My  dear,  what  nonsense!”  Zenobia  cried.  “Whatever  do  you 
mean  ? ” 

“1  don’t  understand,”  Arden  said* 

“ I do,”  said  Morse.  “ Quite.” 


158 


“THE  EIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

“TOO  EAKLY  SEEN  UNKNOWN,  AND  KNOWN  TOO  LATE. 

Yes,  he  understood  her,  quite.  He  knew  exactly  all  the  meaning  of 
her  words;  and  he  thought  the  simple  words  expressed  her  meaning 
with  precision  and  fulness.  She  did  not  speak  the  language  of  London 
society,  on  that  serious,  sad  question  of  man  and  woman's  association. 
She  was  made  to  he  happy  and  to  give  out  happiness ; and  Morse 
knew  too  well  that  she  was  not  happy.  She  was  made  to  be  the  fond, 
devoted  wife  of  a true-hearted  husband,  to  whom  she  could  turn  with 
eyes  of  love,  to  whom  she  could  look  up  with  generous  admiration. 
The  marriage  question  could  hardly  seem  to  her  all  jocular.  Morse 
began  to  find,  that  he  was  all  unconsciously  growing  to  understand  her 
but  too  well.  He  began  to  find  that  he  was  getting  into  the  way  of 
turning  his  eyes  on  her  and  waiting  with  deep  interest  for  what  she 
was  to  say.  This  had  been  going  on  with  him  for  some  time  indeed, 
but  he  was  now  beginning  to  grow  conscious  of  it.  He  found  himself 
watching  over  her  life,  if  one  might  put  it  in  that  way.  She  began  to 
occupy  a large  spreading  space  in  his  thoughts.  This  troubled  him, 
although  there  was  a sweetness  in  it  too  for  the  over-busy  much  pre- 
occupied statesman. 

Kooraii’s  protestation  of  her  inability  to  speak  the  language  and 
Morse’s  declaration  that  he  understood  what  she  meant,  put  a stop 
to  the  discussion  on  the  relative  advantages  of  matrimony  to  man 
and  man’s  mate.  The  tea-drinking  was  over ; the  little  group  was  at 
liberty  to  disperse. 

The  open  air  was  tempting  to  most  of  the  guests.  Mr.  Erie  went 
with  Mrs.  Nevile-Beauchamp  into  the  conservatory  to  get  some 
stephanotis;  Morse  and  Koorali  found  themselves  alone  on  the  lower 
terrace.  They  walked  up  and  down  slowly.  It  was  very  still  and 
peaceful  here,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  fragrance  of  myrtle  and 
late  roses. 

A dream-like  sense  of  content  stole  over  Koorali.  “ I will  be 
happy,”  she  seemed  to  be  whispering  to  herself,  and  her  heart  went  on 
speaking  while, they  paced  almost  the  length  of  the  terrace  in  silence. 
“ Why  should  I not  be  glad  that  I am  near  him?  Why  should  I be 
afraid  ? A woman  has  not  any  need  to  be  afraid  when  she  has  to  deal 
with  a man  like  him.  I am  not  afraid  or  ashamed,  now.  There 
would  be  shame  if  he  were  not  the  most  loyal  man  who  lives.  He  is 
the  truest  and  the  most  loyal.  I know  him  and  I honour  him.  I could 
look  into  his  eyes  as  he  might  look  into  mine,  without  a shadow  of 
shame,  for  our  souls  would  understand  each  other.” 

Thinking  of  this,  she  did  turn  her  dark,  melancholy  eyes  towards 
him.  His  were  downcast.  She  had  never  before  seen  him  so  grave. 
There  was  a curious  expression  on  his  face — a look  stern,  pure,  and 
resolute,  yet  unutterably  sad.  Before  she  could  turn  her  eyes  away 


K TOO  EARLY  SEEN  UNKNOWN .”  159 

lie  looked  suddenly  round,  as  if  he  had  become  conscious  of  her  gaze 
and  of  her  thoughts.  Their  eyes  met.  His  look  seemed  foi  one 
moment  to  cling  to  hers,  as  if  he  were  dumbly  beseeching  her  pardon, 
dumbly  assuring  her  that  she  might  rely  on  him  to  be  silent  and  loyal. 
In  that  instant  their  souls  faced  each  other  fairly.  They  were  no 
longer  groping  in  darkness.  Then  they  both  looked  away.  The 
sense  of  nearness  to  him  which  she  felt  was  a rush  of  joy.  Of  course 
he  would  never  tell  her  what  was  in  his  heart.  This  she  knew,  as 
she  knew  her  own  heart.  He  would  never  tell  her  that  he  loved  her. 
He  would  never  a-k  her  if  she  loved  him.  A naked  sword  was  placed 
between  them,  like  that  which  the  youth  Aladdin  in  the  Arabian  tale 
set  with  his  own  hand  between  him  and  the  princess  he  adored. 
Koorali  knew  that  in  word  and  deed  they  would  be  no  more  to  each 
than  the  merest  acquaintances — less  than  friends.  It  might  indeed 
be  that  this  was  their  farewell.  But  no  matter.  They  knew.  At  the 
moment  there  was  one  and  the  same  picture  before  the  mind  and 
memory  of  each — that  parting  scene  in  Australian  waters  and  the 
Australian  dawn,  long  ago. 

Koorali’s  lips  parted  in  a long  sigh.  For  a moment  or  two  she 
hardly  knew  where  she  was,  or  what  had  happened  to  her.  She  was 
back  in  the  Australian  dawn. 

Presently  Morse  spoke  in  a deep  moved  voice.  “ We  understand  each 
other  ; there  is  nothing  more  to  say  ; now  or  at  any  other  time,  it’s 
a great  misfortune.  We  have  got  to  bear  it.” 

“Yes,”  she  answered  simply;  and  then  the  woman  in  her  spoke. 
“ Still,  I am  glad  to  know,”  she  said;  and  there  was  silence  again. 

“ Kcorali,”  Morse  said  abruptly.  The  sound  of  her  Christian  name, 
which  he  so  seldom  uttered,  thrilled  her  with  a sense  of  delight — 
all  the  more  perhaps  because  the  emotion  in  it  was  held  so  deter- 
minedly in  check.  “ There  is  something  else  I do  want  to  talk  about. 
I asked  you  to  think  over  the  idea  of  a colonial  appointment  for  your 
husband.  I had  oue  in  view,  and  yesterday  I heard  again  from  Lord 
Coulmont,  in  whose  gift  it  is.  Your  husband  may  have  the  offer  of  a 
governorship  in  Farnesia,  one  of  the  newly  annexed  islands.  It  is  the 
governorship  of  all  the  islands,  in  fact.  Coulmont  authorizes  me  to 
speak  to  him.  I could  not  do  so  till  I had  spoken  to  you  again  ; but 
I ought  to  write  to  him  to-morrow.  We  are  political  enemies,  but  we 
are  personal  friends,  and  he  has  promised  me.” 

Koorali  was  silent,  her  lips  pressed  tightly  together,  her  eyes  down- 
cast, in  deep  thought.  He  could  see  that  her  face,  under  the  shadow 
of  her  black  feathers,  had  got  very  white. 

“The  climate  is  fairly  good,”  Morse  continued  in  the  same  level 
tones,  “ more  healthy  than  that  of  South  Britain.  I once  spent  a few 
weeks  there.  The  society  is  fairly  good  also ; and  there  is  capital 
shooting  and  a summer  residence  in  the  hi] Is.  There  would  be  plenty 
to  do  of  a pleasant  kind.  I think  }mur  husband  would  like  it.  And 
for  you  ” — his  voice  changed  suddenly — “ it  would,  perhaps,  be 
better.” 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


160 

Still  Koorali  did  not  turn  towards  him  or  speak.  She  was  afraid 
to  speak.  She  felt  that  if  she  tried  to  raise  her  voice  she  must  break 
down. 

" There  is  the  alternative  of  trusting  to  what  I can  do  for  you  in 
England,”  Morse  said.  “ You  won’t  mind  my  speaking  so  frankly? 
I know  that  Mr.  Kenway  depended  more  or  less  on  the  South  Britain 
Government,  and  that  he  has  no  great  private  fortune.” 

Kooraii  shook  her  head.  She  seemed  to  wish  to  speak,  but  the 
words  did  not  come.  Pie  saw  that  she  was  suffering. 

“ There  is  one  thing  I implore  you  to  take  into  your  mind  and  your 
heart,”  he  said  earnestly.  “ In  any  way  that  I can  serve  you,  I have 
a right  to  do  so.  Don’t  you  know  there  are  bonds,  relationships,  in 
which  that  is  the  only  right  which  can  be  claimed,  and  which  ought 
not  to  he  denied  ? ” He  waited  a moment,  and  then  went  on.  “ Alter 
the  elections,  it  may  be  in  my  power  to  help  my  friends,  but  there 
is  no  certainty  about  it.  The  political  situation  may  be  such  that 
with  my  convictions  I may  be  unable  to  accept  responsibility  even  if 
it  is  thrust  upon  me.  If  war  takes  place,  I should  be  practically 
powerless — for  a time.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  war  party  is  in  the 
minority — well,  I must  come  into  office.  But  I don’t  think  that 
likely,  in  the  least.  I am  bound  in  justice  to  put  this  view  of  the  case 
betore  your  hu*band.  His  own  judgment  will  guide  him,  and  perhaps 
your  influence.” 

Koorali  spoke  out  now,  and  answered  steadily.  “ I will  ask  him — I 
will  beg  him  to  accept  the  appointment  and  take  me  out  of  England.” 

The  strained  look  on  Morse’s  face  relaxed.  Her  decision  was 
evidently  a relief  to  him. 

“Tell  me  that  I am  right,*’  Koorkli  said,  and  there  was  a passionate 
trembling  in  her  voice.  “Tell  me  that  you  think  it  will  be  better  for 
me  to  go  away.  Tell  me  that  you’d  rather ” 

She  stopped  suddenly,  stirred  by  the  expression  of  his  face  to  a feel- 
ing of  the  keenest  self-abasement.  How  could  she  dare  to  make  duty 
moie  difficult  to  him  and  to  herself?  His  face  told  her  what  he  was 
suffering.  It  might  have  been  cut  out  of  iron  but  for  the  eyes ; and 
the  intense  pity,  the  struggling  tenderness,  the  deep  anguish  in  them, 
were  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  Neither  spoke  for  some 
moments.  She  knew  that  in  this  forced  self-repression  lay  his  only 
strength.  She  stopped  abruptly  in  her  walk. 

“No,”  she  exclaimed,  “1  won’t  ask  you — anything — except  to  help 
me  to  go  away.  I’m  glad  to  think  you  can  he  ip  me  to  do  that.  You 
will  speak  to  Crichton  to-night?  You  will  urge  him,  for  his  own 
sake,  to  take  what  Loid  Couhnont  offers  you.  Oh  yes,  I know — I 
know  how  good  you  are — how  true.  If  he  refuses,  then  I will  beg 
him  to  take  it — for  my  sake.” 

Then  she  moved  away.  He  joined  her,  and  they  mounted  the  stone 
steps  without  a word.  When  they  had  reached  the  upper  terrace,  she 
stood  for  a minute  leaning  against  the  time-worn  balustrade,  as  if  tc 
take  breath  or  to  nerve  herself  before  going  into  the  world  again.  She 


TOO  EARLY  SEEN  UNKNOWN; 


161 


leaned  over  the  ivy-grown  railing,  a fragile  little  black  figure,  her 
head  turned  away  from  him,  her  chin  upraised.  The  sun  had  set,  but 
her  face  was  outlined  against  the  red  glow  that  shone  across  the  river, 
lie  saw  the  muscles  in  the  slender  throat  quivering,  and  the  great 
dark  eyes  grow  larger  and  fuller,  as  though  tears  were  welling  in  them. 
All  at  once,  she  made  a sudden  movement,  and  faced  him  with  bright, 
dilated  eyes,  and  lips  hardened  into  a conventional  smile.  Her  little 
laugh  rang  out  clearly.  She  had  taken  up  her  part  again,  and  the 
thought  translated  itself  into  words. 

“I  don’t  think  that  I’m  a person  who  goes  in  for  theatrical  effect,” 
she  said  lightly;  “but  what  strikes  me  most  about  England,  in  con- 
trast to  Australia,  is  that  it’s  dramatic.  People  group  themselves  well, 
and  the  background  is  nearly  always  appropriate  to  the  varied  situa- 
tions of  civilized  life.” 

“Are  you  thinking  that  Mrs.  Eustace  has  managed  some  effective 
grouping?”  he  asked,  falling  into  her  mood  with  an  effort. 

“It’s  always  the  same,”  she  said.  “I  have  been  haunted,  almost 
ever  since  I came  to  England,  by  an  odd  fancy  that  the  curtain  would 
fall  directly.  This  is  like  a scene  in  a play — one  might  imagine  the 
footlights  down  there,”  and  she  pointed  towards  the  river — “a  play 
we  saw  this  season;  do  you  remember?  There  was  a terraced  garden, 
in  the  second  act,  and  there  was  just  the  right  alternation  of  pretty 
drawing-room  comedy  and  of  emotional  interest.  It  was  very  pretty, 
and  it  was  very  like  real  life — the  afternoon  tea,  and  the  dresses,  like 
Zen’s;  and  the  smart  things  that  were  said,  and  the  tragedy  which 
had  the  stage  all  to  itself  when  the  right  time  came.  But  no  one 
ever  forgot  to  say  clever  things,  and  the  women  always  took  care  that 
their  draperies  fell  becomingly.” 

She  paused,  but  Morse  did  not  laugh  or  make  any  jesting  remark. 
She  drew  herself  away  from  the  balustrade. 

“ I wonder  if  you  could  reach  one  or  two  of  those  roses,”  she  said, 
pointing  to  a cluster  of  Marechal  Niel,  which  hung  from  the  wall  close 
to  where  they  stood.  “ 1 should  like  to  wear  them  to-night,  if  you 
will  gather  them  for  me.” 

He  did  as  she  asked,  and  gave  the  roses  to  her.  As  she  held  out 
her  hands,  he  saw  that  they  were  trembling.  She  clasped  the  flowers 
tightly. 

“Thank  you,”  she  said.  “You  see,  I am  like  the  people  in  the 
play.  There’s  always  the  dressing  up  to  be  thought  of.  And  the 
curtain  will  fall  on  me — on  this  sort  of  life,  at  any  rate,  if  Crichton 
goes  to  the  islands — what  are  they  called  ? I must  make  the  most  of 
what  opportunities  are  left  me  to  be  brilliant  and  worldly.” 

Her  laugh,  in  which  there  was  a false  uncertain  note,  smote  him  to 
the  very  soul.  He  felt-  at  that  moment  as  one  might  feel  who  saw  his 
best-beloved  child  suffering  from  a blow  he  had  unknowingly  dealt. 
She  wasjso  like  a child  still.  She  went  into  the  house  with  her  roses, 
and  he  loitered  on  the  terrace  for  a few  minutes.  Then  the  dressing* 
gong  summoned  him  also  within. 


132 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE P 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MR.  DOBITO  ADMONISHES  NATIONS. 

Koorali  came  down  to  dinner  in  a dress  which  had  been  designed  foi 
her  by  a royal  academician,  and  which  had  created  quite  a sensation 
at  the  great  London  party  where  she  had  first  worn  it.  It  was  a 
wonderful  arrangement  of  rich,  clinging  Eastern  stuff,  of  a pale  yellow, 
and  heavy  gold  embroidery ; and  it  was  fashioned  in  a manner  quite 
different  from  that  of  any  modern  garment.  The  draperies  hung  with 
that  grace  for  which  the  Australian  beauty  was  much  celebrated.  No 
stiffened  bodice  disfigured  her  form,  but  an  embroidered  scarf  was 
cunningly  twisted  round  and  round  her  bust,  the  white  neck  and 
slender  throat  clasped  by  a band  of  gold  rising  above  its  folds,  the  arms 
showing  bare  to  the  shoulders.  She  wore  Morse’s  roses  at  her  waist. 
There  was  something  striking  and  original  about  the  dress.  It  had 
been  very  much  admired  and  quoted,  and  it  harmonized  with  her  clear 
paleness,  her  delicate  features,  and  deep  dark  eyes.  There  was  no 
particular  reason  why  she  should  wear  it  upon  this  occasion,  except 
that  it  seemed  somehow  to  suit  her  mood  and  to  sigualize  the  closing 
of  a chapter  in  her  life. 

Perhaps  she  had  never  been  less  herself  than  upon  this  evening. 
She  was  not  given  to  saying  hard,  brilliant  things,  or  indeed  to  talking 
much  in  general  company.  To-night,  however,  she  talked  a great 
deal,  and  laughed  and  made  keen  little  speeches,  which  hurt  Morse 
like  the  thrusts  of  a knife.  He  understood  so  well  what  she  intended 
that  he  should  understand  ; and  more.  It  was  a poor,  pitiful  piece  of 
bravery. 

Crichton  was  pleased  in  his  malign,  self-glorifying  way.  He  was 
anxious  that  the  impression  she  bad  made  upon  Morse  should  be 
deepened  during  Lady  Betty’s  absence.  He  had  a nervous  dread  of 
Lady  Betty’s  interference.  He  watched  Morse  with  the  ey«s  of  a 
tracker,  and  saw  that  he  was  preoccupied,  and  that  he  constantly 
looked  at  Koorali.  Crichton  interpreted  these  looks  by  smoking- 
room  theories.  He  himself  only  knew  one  manner  of  admiring  a 
pretty  woman.  He  was  not  displeased.  He  meant  to  work  Morse’s 
admiration  to  his  own  advantage.  He  also  admired  Koorali  in  that 
dress  and  in  that  mood. 

Zen  was  very  gorgeous.  She  twinkled  with  diamonds  and  silver 
embroidery.  Her  train  was  of  brocade,  with  fleurs-de-lis  upon  it, 
outlined  in  silver  thread.  Her  shoes  glistened  like  Cinderella’s  glass 
slippers,  only  they  were  much  larger.  She  awed  and  delighted  Mr. 
Dobito,  who  duly  made  his  appearance,  clad  in  checked  trousers,  a 
long  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  and  a high  collar  and  neckcloth 
in  good  old  style.  Mrs.  Nevile- Beauchamp  thought  that  he  looked 
singularly  out  of  place  in  Zen’s  magnificent  pale  yellow  drawing-room. 
She  thought  the  fox  terrier  out  of  place  too,  when  it  was  brought  to  be 


MR.  DOBITO  ADMONISHES  NATIONS.  i6j 

exhibited.  But  soon  she  saw  that  a great  county  lady,  who  was  Zen’s 
neighbour  and  a guest  this  evenin'!,  delighted  in  the  fox  terrier,  asking 
many  questions  as  to  its  bre<d  and  capabilities,  and  was  on  most 
intimate  terms  with  Mr.  Dobito.  So  she. changed  her  mind,  and 
whispered  to  Mr.  Erie  that  it  was  really  very  picturesque. 

The  dinner  was  over  ; the  women  had  gone  into  the  drawing-room. 
Mr.  Dobito  was  not  sorry.  He  was  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  way  of  thinking. 
He  liked  to  fold  his  legs  and  have  his  talk  out,  and  one  could  not  well 
have  his  talk  out  where  there  were  ladies.  They  would  expect  to  be 
allowed  their  say  too;  and  then  they  would  contradict;  and  they 
would  not  understand.  A wise  man  does  not  talk  to  women,  though 
he  may  sometimes  condescend  to  talk  at  them.  Mr.  Dobito  was  a 
very  wise  man.  He  was  really  very  clever,  shrewd,  and  sound ; but 
he  loved  to  hear  himself  talk,  and  he  indulged  in  paradox  to  show  how 
clever  he  was.  He  had  been  taught  by  his  own  class  to  consider  him- 
self an  oracle.  The  gentry  of  the  county  admired  his  shrewd  sense,  his 
thorough  honesty,  and  his  straight  riding  in  the  hunting-field,  and 
they  were  amused  by  his  oddities  and  indulged  them.  This  evening 
Mr.  Dobito  was  very  happy.  He  had  been  brought  to  talk  to  Mr. 
Morse  and  Lord  Arden,  and.  he  meant  to  justify  his  reputation.  He 
admired  Morse;  thought  Morse  and  he  were  the  two  really  able  men 
in  the  country ; considered  Morse  almost  equal  to  himself  in  natural 
capacity,  but  wanting  of  course  in  years  and  experience. 

The  claret  was  passed  round.  Mr.  Dobito  smiled  condescendingly 
at  it,  but  would  have  none  of  it.  “No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Ken  way. 
None  of  your  new-fangled  rubbish  for  me.  They  used  to  say  ’twere 
only  Frenchies  that  drank  claret,  and  that  was  because  they  were  not 
brought  up  to  anything  letter.  I’ll  stick  to  the  port.” 

He  stuck  to  the  port,  which  he  found  excellent,  which  was  excellent. 
Cigarettes  were  lighted.  Of  course  hunting  had  been  discussed,  as  was 
natural  in  Lyndfordshire,  but  Mr.  Dobito  oracularly  closed  that  subject. 

“ Hunting  is  a very  good  sport  for  him  as  knows  his  country  and 
knows  his  nog;  but  for  a middling  rider  and  a middling  nag,  why,  1 
say  there  isn’t  much  in  it.  And  that’s  the  truth.” 

Then  came  some  talk  of  the  foreshadowed  war.  Mr.  Dobito  was 
entirely  with  Morse  on  that  subject.  War  would  simply  ruin  ihe 
farmers  he  declared ; they  only  wanted  that  on  the  top  of  the  abomin- 
able strikes  and  holidays,  and  the  extra  burdens.  Admiral  Nevile- 
Beauchamp  was  against  war  on  a different  ground,  concerning  which 
also  Morse  agreed  with  him.  We  were  not  prepared,  the  gallant 
Admiral  held.  “Our  ships  won’t  float,  sir;  our  guns  would  burst; 
the  short-service  has  played  the  devil  with  the  red-jackets.” 

Eustace  fixed  his  eye-glass,  and  was  languidly  for  battle.  “ Heard 
all  that  sort  of  thing  before,  you  know ; always  hearing  it.  You 
sailors  and  soldiers  are  always  grumbling ; bad  as  the  farmers.  Give 
Englishmen  a chance  of  fighting,  and  they’ll  show  you  they  can  lick 
the  foreigners  yet — against  any  odds,  by  Jove ! ” Then  he  dropped 
his  eye-glass,  having  settled  the  question.  He  dropped  his  eye-glass, 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


164 

as  the  owner  of  a castle  might  drop  the  portcullis  in  the  brave  days  of 
old  to  signify  that  he  could  hold  no  further  parley. 

“Fighting  the  foreigner  means  starving  the  farmer,”  said  Mr.  Dobito. 
“They  don’t  all  believe  that.  I heard  a farmer  say  that  what  we 
wanted  was  a good  old  war  like  the  Crimean  war,  when  wheat  went 
over  a hundred  shillings  a quarter.  But  you  know,  sir  ” — Mr.  Dobito’s 
voice  became  deep  and  emphatic — “there’s  bound  to  be  what  my 
learned  friend  ’ud  call  a reaction ; and  I mind  when  wheat  went  down 
— after  that  very  war — down  as  low  as  my  boots.” 

“The  burdens  on  the  farmer  are  increasing,  I suppose,  Mr.  Dobito?” 
Lord  Arden  struck  in. 

This  gave  Mr.  Dobito  his  chance.  His  time  had  come,  and  he  knew 
it.  Now  he  was  going  to  talk.  He  stretched  out  his  long  legs,  took 
another  glass  of  port,  then  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  surveyed 
the  company  with  the  wise  man’s  tranquil  and  superior  smile.  Then 
he  began — 

“Burdens  on  the  farmer  increasing,  my  Lord?  Yes,  I should  think 
they  were.  I am  glad  you  put  that  question  while  Mr.  Morse  is  here. 
To-morrow  or  next  day  he  may  be — well,  the  master  of  the  hounds  let 
us  say  ; the  Westminster  Parliament  pack.”  And  Mr.  Dobito  smiled 
at  his  own  humour.  “Now  I am  going  to  give  you  a little  ditty  in 
prose.  I’m  going  to  tell  you  all  about  the  burdens  which  we  poor 
farmers  have  to  carry  on  our  backs  now,  and  which  we  hadn’t  to  bear 
when  I began  to  exist,  nor  for  many  years  after.  A gentleman  like 
my  learned  friend  Mr.  Morse  here  ” — Mr.  Dobito  considered  it  only 
becoming  to  speak  thus  respectfully  of  a possible  Prime  Minister — 
“ like  my  learned  friend  Mr.  Morse  here,  wauts  to  get  to  the  right  side 
of  affairs,  let  us  suppose ” 

“ The  head  of  affairs?”  Mr.  Erie  murmured,  with  a bland  tentative 
suggestion  of  a juke.  On  ne  rit  pas,  as  the  French  parliamentary 
reports  were  occasionally  in  the  habit  of  saying  when  an  orator’s 
attempted  pleasantry  in  the  Chamber  missed  fire.  Mr.  Dubito  frowned  ; 
not  at  the  jest,  but  at  the  interruption. 

“At  the  right  side  of  affairs,”  Mr.  Dobito  went  on  with  a certain 
sternness  of  manner,  calculated  to  discourage  further  interruption, 
“ Well,  what  do  I do?  1 stick  him  up  at  my  gate,  and  put  somebody 
by  his  side  who  knows  all  the  people  hereabouts  and  the  ways  of  the 
place.  At  nine  o’clock,  not  before,  they  begin  to  pass  along.  First 
you  see  a very  decent-looking  man,  with  a clerical  sort  of  appearance; 
he  wears  a long  black  coat,  a waistcoat  a little  open,  showing  a neat, 
well-starched  shirt.”  Mr.  Dobito’s  long  upper  lip  lengihened,  and  he 
expanded  his  chest  and  stroked  the  long  loose  ends  of  his  crimped 
neckcloth.  “ And  he  has  a pair  of  very  respectable  gloves.  ‘ Who  is 
this?'  says  my  learned  friend.” 

Mr.  Dobito  paused,  and  waved  his  hand  as  if  it  held  a pipe  and  were 
pointing  with  the  stem  to  the  imaginary  passer-by. 

No  one  of  course  presumed  to  anticipate  the  answTer.  Mr.  Dobito 
went  on — 


MR.  DOB  I TO  ADMONISHES  NATIONS.  165 

“Says  my  interpreter,  ‘This  is  the  village  schoolmaster.’  'Who 
pays  him?’  asks  my  learned  friend?  ‘ The  farmer  pays  him.’  Very 
good.  Now  there  comes  along  a very  respectable  lady,  looking  as  if 
she  had  seetu  better  days.  She  is  dressed  fairly  up  to  the  fashion ; 
lumping  out  very  large  behind  from  the  waist.”  Mr.  Dobito  pushed 
away  his  chair,  and  gave  a pantomimic  representation  of  the  swaying 
motion  produced  by  a dress-improver.  “ She  has  a pair  of  spectacles  on, 
and  she  goes  by  with  a very  mincing  and  formal  step.  ‘ Who  is  this  ? * 
says  you.  ‘Why,  that  is  the  village  schoolmistress.’  ‘And  who  pays 
her?’  ‘Why,  the  farmer,  of  course.’  Then  after  her  come  two 
strapping  lasses,  one  with  very  high  heels  to  her  boots;  perhaps  the 
other  with  low  shoes  and  buckles.  ‘ Who  be  these  ?’  asks  my  learned 
friend.  ‘These  be  the  assistant-schoolmistresses.’  ‘And  who  pays 
them  ? ’ ‘ Oh,  oh  ! the  farmer  pays  them.  Who  but  he  ? ’ ” 

Mr.  Dobito  seated  himself  again,  looked  round  the  company,  and 
took  breath.  He  wanted  the  effect  of  his  descriptions  to  sink  deep. 
Then  he  resumed  his  prose  ditty. 

“Now,  see  this  hurly-burly  looking  fellow  with  a big  fierce  beard. 
You  see  him  taking  notes  with  a pencil.  ‘Who  is  this?’  says  you — 
says  my  learned  friend,  Mr.  Morse.  ‘ This  is  the  school-attendance 
officer,  looking  for  little  lads  whose  fathers  are  too  poor  to  let  them 
spend  their  time  in  school.’  ‘ Who  pays  him?’  ‘ Why,  the  farmer.’ 
Then  a chap  comes  tramping  stately  down  the  road,  with  buttons 
shining  like  silver,  and  his  nose  in  the  air.  ‘Who  is  this  great  person?  * 
you  ask.  ‘This — oh,  this  is  the  village  policeman.’  ‘And  who  pays 
him?’  ‘Why,  the  farmer.’  Look  at  this  portly  man,  thirteen  or 
fourteen  stone  in  weight  he  must  be,  surely  ; he  seems  as  if  he  had 
pretty  well  enough  to  eat  at  all  times,  now,  don’t  he?  This  is  the 
relieving  officer.  ‘ And  who  pays  him  ? ’ ‘ The  farmer.’  Just  stand 

out  of  the  way  of  this  one  who  comes  sitting  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
drive  of  a cart,  and  his  wife  with  him  on  the  other;  they  are  a pretty 
heavy  pair,  and  I tell  you  the  weight  of  them  makes  the  springs  bump 
down.  Do  you  know  who  that  man  is  ? That’s  the  inspector  of 
nuisances.  ‘ Who  pays  him  ?’  ‘ The  farmer,  of  course.’  ” 

Mr.  Dobito  was  dramatic  as  well  as  methodical  in  his  way  of 
description.  He  assumed  that  each  announcement  as  to  the  paymaster 
would  be  a fresh  revelation  to  the  audience,  and  he  made  the  announce- 
ment with  a burst. 

“ Now,  look  at  this  gentleman  driven  sitting  down  in  a very  superior 
turn-out;  he  wears  a pair  of  blue  spectacles  to  keep  the  dust  out. 
‘ Who  is  he  ?’  ‘ Well,  he  is  the  surveyor  of  roads.’  ‘ And  who  pays 

him?’  ‘ The  farmer  pays  him.’  See  who  comes  after  him — this  man 
with  the  tall  shiny  chimney-pot  hat  and  a fine  broadcloth  coat.  See, 
he  knocks  at  every  door  as  he  goes  along.  ‘Who  is  he?’  ‘Well, 
that’s  the  rate-collector,  calling  to  get  the  last  penny  every  cne  has 
left.’  c And  who  pays  him  ? ’ ‘ Why,  the  farmer.’  Good.  But  just 
turn  your  eyes  this  way  now  for  a bit.  Do  you  see  this  poor  old 
fellow,  dressed  not  so  fashionably  by  long  odds,  with  a pair  of  old  cord 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


1 66 

breeches,  old  leather  leggings,  a coat  that  has  seen  some  service  and 
lost  its  colour  in  it,  and  a particularly  shabby  old  white  hat  ? He  has 
an  ash  stick  in  his  hand,  this  poor  old  chap,  and  he  is  jogging  home  to 
get  some  comfort,  if  he  can,  out  of  a glass  of  beer.  ‘ What  old  bloke 
is  that?’  says  my  learned  friend.  ‘Ah,  but  that  is  old  Steve  Dobito, 
the  farmer,  the  mail  who  lives  on  the  land  and  pays  double  the  rates 
of  any  other  man  in  the  parish.’” 

This  was  the  climax.  Where  Corporal  Trim  would  have  dropped 
his  hat,  Mr.  Dobito  poured  out  another  glass  of  port.  He  looked 
round  silent  on  the  company. 

Morse  spoke  first.  “ The  farmer  will  have  to  carry  some  more  bur- 
dens soon,  I suppose,  Mr.  Dobito?  A dead  Englishman  and  a dead 
foreigner  on  his  back.  The  statesmen  get  them  killed — our  own  poor 
fellows  and  the  others  ; and  the  farmers  pay  for  the  work.” 

“You  come  in,  Mr.  Morse,  and  don’t  give  us  any  war,”  Mr.  Dobito 
said.  “We  look  to  you.” 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

“ AND  MAY  THIS  WORLD  GO  WELL  WITH  YOU.” 

The  fame  of  Zen’s  improvements  and  decorations  had  gone  abroad 
among  the  neighbours  ; and  when  Lady  Clarence — Mr.  Dobito’s  friend 
and  the  lady  who  admired  fox  terriers — expressed  a wish  to  see  Mrs. 
Eustace  Kenway’s  “diggings,”  there  was  an  adjournment  to  Zen’s 
boudoir  while  the  men  were  in  the  dining-room. 

The  upholsterers  had  only  just  left  it,  and  it  had  the  appearance  of 
a newly  finished  glove-box.  The  walls  were  of  pale  blue  brocade,  and 
the  ceiling  was  satin,  quilted  and  puckered,  with  a wonderful  lamp 
hanging  from  its  centre  by  gilt  chains,  up  which  green  porcelain  frogs 
were  crawling.  The  draperies  were  all  of  pale  blue  plush  ; the  chairs 
and  sofas  vere  covered  with  plush,  and  were  of  fantastic  shapes,  after 
the  order  of  the  toadstool  in  the  hall.  All  sorts  of  funny  modern 
knick-knacks  adorned  the  room.  Dresden  mirrors,  gilt  baskets,  gro- 
tesque china  monstrosities,  odd  little  coloured  glass  lamps.  There 
were  no  books,  or  pieces  of  work,  or  any  of  the  artistic  fripperies  which 
women  like  to  collect.  Zen  seated  herself  squarely  upon  her  plush 
sofa  and  surveyed  the  whole  with  naive  complacency. 

“ I must  say  I like  it,”  she  said.  “ I told  you  that  I knew  how  to 
make  my  little  self  comfortable.  Didn’t  I now?  It’s  the  only  thing 
worth  doing.  What  else  is  there?  It’s  so  jolly  satisfactory  to  make 
one’s  self  comfortable.” 

“ But  when  it’s  done,”  said  Lady  Clarence,  who  was  a sportswoman 
of  Spartan  habits,  and  liked  nothing  better  than  roughing  it. 

“ Oh,  then,  there’s  the  satisfaction,”  returned  Zen,  and  she  sighed 
“/  don’t  find  much  in  life,  except  that  kind  of  thing — eating  and 
drinking  and  being  amused.  Some  people  are  cut  out  for  romance  aud 


MAY  THIS  WORLD  GO  WELL  WITH  YOU.”  167 


sentiment,  don’t  you  know?  Like  you,  KoorMi.  But  you  and  I, 
Lady  Clarence,  aren’t  that  sort.  Are  we  now  ? 

Lady  Clarence  did  not  seem  quite  to  fancy  being  set  in  a category 
with  Zen.  She  only  put  up  her  eye-glass  and  inspected  the  frogs  on 
the  lamp-chains,  supposing  vaguely  that  they  must  feel  a little  out  of 
their  element. 

“ This  is  my  daylight  room,”  continued  Zen.  “ Now,  I’m  going  to 
show  you  my  night  one.  I had  the  satin  and  plush  dyed  to  suit  my 
complexion.  Do  you  like  it  ? ” she  asked  with  conscious  triumph,  as 
after  having  passed  through  a glove-box  wardrobe  room,  she  pushed 
open  the  doors  into  her  bedroom  and  dressing-room.  These  were 
dainty  nests  indeed,  lined  with  rose-coloured  satin  and  draped  in  lace, 
with  the  most  wonderful  inlaid  toilette  table  and  long  three-sided 
mirror,  framed  in  silver,  and  with  a special  altar  consecrated  to  silver- 
backed  brushes  of  all  shapes  and  sizes — there  were  twenty  of  them, 
Zen  announced  with  delight,  and  it  was  matter  for  speculation  how 
many  of  them  could  by  any  possibility  be  employed  upon  the  little 
close-cropped  head — and  to  powder  putfs,  silver-handled  curling-irons, 
and  frizzing  apparatus. 

Lady  Clarence  laughed  good-humouredly.  “ This  is  the  oldest  part 
of  the  house,  i.rn’t  it  V ” she  asked. 

“ Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  old,”  said  Zen.  “ You  might  go 
through  the  floor  for  twopence-halipenny.  It  don’t  look  old  now 
though,  does  it — or  dirty?  It  was  just  as  grimy!  And  all  hung 
with  tapestry,  and  done  up  with  queer  carving.  I had  that  cleared 
away  pretty  smart.” 

“ I think  I’d  have  kept  the  tapestry,”  said  Lady  Clarence,  with 
a little  laugh. 

They  proceeded  on  their  tour  of  inspection  ; but  Koorali  lingered. 
She  had  thrown  back  the  Venetians,  and  was  looking  out  of  the  open 
window  upon  the  scene  below.  There  was  the  wide  terrace,  with  its 
bit  of  black  lawn  and  the  grey  balustrades  and  solemn  yew  hedges  on 
either  side ; and  then,  far  below,  the  silvery  line  of  river,  and  the  low 
dark  bank  and  ghostly  trees  shrouded  in  haze  rising  on  the  opposite 
side.  Beyond  that  lay  the  flat  meadows  covered  with  thick  white 
mist  that  looked  as  if  it  were  the  sea,  and  with  just  the  dim  outlines 
of  a village  above  it,  like  distant  land. 

When  the  rest  had  gone,  Koorali  sank  upon  the  floor  and  kneeled 
with  her  arms  against  the  ledge  and  her  chin  upon  them.  She  w as  in 
a strange  excited  state,  her  heart  was  quivering  and  she  felt  sick  with 
the  terror  of  something  impending.  All  this  seemed  part  of  a diearn. 
She  wondered  what  Morse  would  say  to  her  husband.  She  wondered 
hew  Crichton  would  regard  the  situation — if  he  would  agree  to  leave 
England.  To  leave  England!  The  thought  seemed  to  clutch  her 
heart,  and  she  uttered  a stifled  cry  at  the  pain  it  gave  her.  The  con- 
viction swept  over  her  with  full  force  that  she  had  never  known  till 
late  months  the  exquisite  joy  and  the  exquisite  pain  which  life  can 
hold  and  love  can  bring.  For  the  misery,  too,  was  exquisite — there 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


1 63 

was  no  deadness,  no  blankness  in  it.  But  to  go  awray — to  be  alone 
always  with  her  husband  . . . ! 

She  shuddered  all  over.  The  phase  of  exaltation  and  glory  in  a love 
which  seemed  to  her  the  outcome  of  her  nature,  the  fruit  of  her  very 
soul,  had  gone,  as  phases  of  the  kind  vanish,  and  she  had  now  a sense 
as  of  guilt  and  shame.  She  seemed  to  see  her  little  children’s  faces. 
It  was  horrible,  it  was  unnatural.  The  suffocating  sobs  shook  her,  but 
she  wouldn’t  let  them  have  vent.  “ Oh ! why  can’t  I tight — and 
tight — and  get  the  better  of  it?”  she  whispered  fiercely  to  herself. 
“ It’s  wrong — it’s  wicked  ! It’s  because  I’m  a bad  woman — that  I 
hate — hate  him  so.  And  he’s  my  husband  ! Oh!  God  is  cruel  to  us 
wives ! Why  does  He  let  us  bind  ourselves  wThen  we  don’t  know — 
when  we  can’t  know  ? Why  does  He  let  the  feeling  grow,  and  cheat 
us  into  the  fancy  that  it’s  the  noblest  and  the  most  beautiful — till  it’s 
like  death  to  pluck  it  out?  Oh ! I’d  lather  die — I can’t — I can’t!” 

She  did  not  know  how  long  she  stayed  at  the  window.  It  was  only 
a few  minutes  perhaps.  She  got  calm  again,  and  the  trembling  ceased. 
She  did  not  want  to  sob  now  and  cry  out.  She  was  still  kneeling, 
when  Zen’s  beads  and  bangles  clinked  in  the  room,  and  Zen  stole  up 
to  the  window,  standing  behind  her,  and  looking  out  on  to  the  mist 
and  the  silvery  band  of  water  and  the  black  outlines  of  the  yews. 
The  mist  was  a little  less  dense,  or  the  lamps  in  the  village  across  the 
water  had  been  lighted,  for  one  or  two  shone  below  like  beacon  lights 
on  the  shore. 

Zen  did  not  speak  for  a moment.  Presently  she  said,  “I  think  it's 
queer,  that.  It  strikes  me,  don’t  you  know?  We  on  this  side,  and 
they  on  that  one.  The  poor  rough  creatures  in  those  cottages,  and  we 
frivolous  modern  people;  and  this  room — and  everything.  There’s 
only  the  river  between — but  such  a gulf!  They  can’t  picture  our 
lives,  and  we  don’t  know  theirs.” 

Koorali  did  not  answer. 

Zen  went  on,  in  her  abrupt  yet  reflective  way.  “There’s  that  old 
fridge,  it’s  Saxon.  And  the  Knights  Templars  used  to  look  out  on 
that  very  river  and  the  meadows.  It’s  b-beastly  queer.” 

She  slipped  down  on  the  carpet  beside  her  sister-in-law.  Then  she 
looked  out  at  the  night,  and  lack  into  the  rose-lined  room,  with  its 
silver  mirrors  and  the  table  with  all  the  brushes,  and  shook  her  head. 
“ It  isn’t  worth  much,  after  all,”  she  said,  with  an  odd,  passionate 
quaver  in  her  voice.  “ I’d  give  it  all — all — if  I could  be  loved  for  my 
very  own  self.  You’re  better  off  than  I am,  Koorali.” 

Koorali  turned  with  a quick  gesture  of  sympathy,  and  clasped  Zen’s 
hand.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  felt  so  closely  drawn  towards 
Zen  ; and  now  the  pity  and  compassion  which  went  from  her  were 
a relief  to  her  surcharged  heart.  Zen’s  pathetic  declaration  of  loneli- 
ness and  disappointment  found  its  echo  in  her  own  soul.  The  tears 
gushed  from  h:r  eyes.  Presently  Zen  put  her  other  hand  on  Koorali’s 
cheek  and  turm  d her  face  round.  The  light  from  a lamp  in  the  room 
fell  upon  it  and  showed  Zen  a great  tear  on  her  eyelashes. 


“MAY  THIS  WORLD  GO  WELL  WITH  YOU.”  169 


“ You’re  crying,”  exclaimed  Zen.  “ 1 knew  quite  well  that  you  had 
the  taste  of  ashes  between  your  teeth  this  evening,  though  you  tried 
so  jolly  well  to  make  everybody  believe  it  was  all  apples  and  roses. 
Has  Crichton  been  bullying  you?” 

“ No,”  answered  Koor&li  faintly. 

“ Is  it  money?”  pursued  Zen.  “I  guessed  that  Crichton  must  he 
pretty  hard  up.  His  tailor  wouldn’t  give  him  tick.  A man  must  bo 
hard  up  when  his  tailor  won’t  give  him  tick.  Never  mind  how  I 
kn*»w — I do.  Look  here,  Koorali.  If  it’s  money,  just  you  let  me 
lend  you  a helping  hand.  I needn’t  tell  Eustace,  you  know.” 

“ No,  no,”  said  Koorali  hastily,  “ I couldn’t.  You  are  very  kind, 
Zen;  but,  indeed,  I couldn’t  let  you  help  me  in  that  way.  Aud, 
besides,  it’s  not  money.  It’s  nothing — nothing  that  I can  talk  about, 
dear.  I’m  just  a little  melancholy  this  evening,  and — I didn’t  mean 
you  to  see  it.  Never  mind  me ; tell  me  about  yourself.  I’m  so  sorry 
that  things  are  wrong  with  you;  but,  perhaps,  it  is  all  a mistake. 
And  you  are  very  fond  of  Eustace,  dear.  Nothing  matters  much  if 
one  only  loves  one’s  husband.” 

“But  I don’t,”  said  Zen  slowly,  her  round  rosy  face  paling  and 
becoming  hard  and  old-looking  as  she  gazed  straight  before  her  out 
beyond  the  river.  “ I did  love  him.  I was  idiotically  fond  of  him, 
though  I knew  he  was  a mass  of  selfishness ; but  I could  not  help  it. 
You  see,  that’s  the  worst  of  never  caring  for  any  one  all  one’s  life. 
When  one  does,  it’s  a bad  job.” 

Koorkli  pressed  Zen’s  hand  closer,  and  there  was  a little  silence. 

“ I did  love  him,”  repeated  Zen,  “ but  that  was  all  over  before  many 
months.  It  was  over  when  I found  out  that  he  had  only  married  me 
for  my  money.  There,  I’d  cut  out  my  tongue  before  I’d  tell  that  to 
the  Family!” 

“ Oh,  Zen,  perhaps  you  are  mistaken,”  said  Koorali. 

“ No,  I’m  not.  I found  it  out.  I found  out  that  he  had  been  in 
love  with  a woman  in  Florence  who  was  married,  a friend  of  mine” — 
the  scorn  in  Zen’s  voice  was  tragic— “ who  wanted  to  do  him  a good 
turn  and  get  my  fortune  for  him.  I suppose  she  thought  it  wouldn’t 
make  any  difference;  but  it  did,”  cried  Zen,  with  a flash  of  triumph. 
“ Eustace  may  be  selfish,  and  he  doesn’t  care  for  me ; but  he  is  a 
gentleman.  He  quarrelled  with  her  and  took  me  away.  Then,  after- 
wards, I began  to  see  how  bored  he  was,  and  I partly  guessed,  and  my 
step-mother  told  me  the  rest.  And  when  two  and  two  are  added 
together  they  generally  make  four,”  remarked  Zen.  “ I didn’t  want 
much  telling.  They  think  I’m  a lump  of  pap,  and  no  one  ever  sus- 
pects me  of  being  able  to  see  through  a brick  wall.  But  that’s  my 
way.  I’m  deceptive.  I’m  noticing  all  the  time  that  I’m  rattling  on 
by  the  yard,  and  I’ve  noticed  Eustace.  I can  read  his  thoughts. 

u It  was  wicked  of  your  step-mother;  it  was  horrible!”  cried  Koo- 
rkli  indignantly. 

“ Yes,  I must  say  I think  it  was  low,”  returned  Zen.  “ But,  then, 
I told  you  she  was  pretty  bad  form ; even  I can  see  that.  She  funked 
12 


170 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE } 


afterwards,  and  begged  me  not  to  let  Eustace  know.  She  said  she  had 
done  it  for  my  good.  She  need  not  have  been  afraid.  I wasn’t  likely 
to  tell  Eustace  ; 1 was  too  proud  for  that.  But  I felt  bad  enough,  I 
can  tell  you  ; and  I flew  out  at  him — about  nothing  in  particular.  I 
stormed  and  raved ; and  then,  when  I couldn’t  hold  myself  in  any 
longer,  I rushed  away  up  into  the  hills.  Oh,  you  needn’t  have  minded 
my  S'  eing  you  cry.  Cry ! Why,  Tve  cried  caiaracts.” 

“ Oh,  poor  Zen  ! ” murmured  Koorali. 

“Kevermind!  I’ve  got  a happy  faculty  for  throwing  things  cff. 
It’s  all  right  as  long  as  I keep  going  on  like  a steam  engine.  It  was 
up  in  the  hills,  above  Glion,”  she  went  on  in  her  hard  bitter  way. 
“ I lay  on  the  ground  and  cried  and  shrieked.  I dare  say  the  people 
in  the  vineyard  thought  1 was  mad.  So  I was.  for  a bit.  Then  I 
picket!  myself  up.  When  I got  back,  Eustace  was  smoking  cigarettes 
and  reading  4 Autour  du  Manage.’  He  asked  me,  with  the  politeness 
of  a Spanish  Don,  if  I would  mind,  when  I was  quite  calm,  stating 
my  wishes  ch  arly,  so  that  he  might  comply  with  them.  I could  have 
stabbed  him  ; I was  wild  with  rage.  My  blood  boiled  so  that  it  sent 
me  into  a fever.  I went  to  bed  for  a w7eek  ; my  face  swelled.  1 
wouldn’t  speak  to  Eustace.  After  a week  I got  up.  There  was  a 
dance  in  the  hotel  that  night.  It  was  the  first  time  I had  met  Lord 

Arden  since  my  marriage ” Zen  stopped  abruptly.  “Well,  that 

was  the  end  of  it  all/’  she  added,  “and  I don’t  mean  to  cave  in.  And 
you  mustn’t  either,  Koorali.  I should  think  Lady  Clarence  had  seen 
the  house  by  this  time.” 

She  got  up,  and  Koorali  rose  too.  Zen’s  little  burst  of  confidence 
had  done  Koorali  good.  It  had  brought  her  back  to  reality,  and  yet 
the  reality,  when  she  thought  of  her  fate  trembling  in  the  balance  of 
Crichton’s  self-interested  wishes,  seemed  a ghastly  dream. 

The  gentlemen  came  in  very  soon  after  Koorali  and  Zen  had  returned 
to  the  drawing-room.  Crichton  and  Morse  were  toge  ther,  and  Lord 
Arden  and  Mr.  Dobiio  brought  up  the  rear.  Mr.  Dobito,  a little  elated 
by  Eustace’s  port  and  the  wrongs  of  the  ratepayers,  was  taken  in  hand 
by  Lady  Clarence,  and  presently  Lord  Arden  spied  Zen’s  banjo  in  a 
corner,  and  brought  it  to  her. 

It  was  a very  magnificent  banjo,  like  everything  of  Zen’s.  It  was 
got  up  in  richly  chased  silver,  and  it  looked  very  new  and  shiny,  and 
matched  Zen’s  embroidery  as,  seated  in  a plush  chair,  with  her  feet  on 
a gilt  footstool,  she  held  it  on  her  lap. 

“ 1 can  only  sing  one  song,”  she  said,  " and  I can’t  play  anything 
but  two  breakdowns.  I mix  them  up  together  because  I think  they 
sound  more  imposing,  don’t  you  know  ? And  I’m  only  going  to  play 
because  it  isn’t  good  manners  to  refuse  when  you’re  asked,  don’t  you 
see?” 

Zen  played  her  breakdowns,  and  then  the  song  was  insisted  upon, 
and  she  sang  it  with  an  odd  look  at  Eustace  as  she  thrummed  the 
accompaniment.  Eustace  was  watching  her  ; and,  indeed,  there  was 
something  comic  and  pathetic  about  Zen  as  she  sat  in  all  her  finery 


“MAY  THIS  WORLD  GO  WELL  WITH  YOU."  17 1 

fingering  her  banjo,  with  her  elbows  squared  and  the  hard  look  of 
emotion  kept  under  still  on  her  face. 

It  was  a wild  little  American  negro  song.  Her  voice  was  sweet  and 
had  a melancholy  note  in  it,  and  there  was  something  very  quaint  and 
tender  about  the  song.  It  had  a refrain,  which  ran  thus : — 


Andante . 


1' s: — sr — k . 

*“ — r 

K S th,  N 

1 5 - 

Ii17  1/  A k.  ^ ! 

- — 1^  — , — r*  1 

i r 

\J — L\.  ^ Wr 

■ -2  s*  zj — & 

. _ J L 

1 ~ ~ ~ v* 

Ha  - doo, kind  friends,  ra-doo,  ra-doo,  ra  - doo,  And 


tg f p- — p- ■> 

r 

0 £ 1 

| 1 | 

f(\ 

cp  ^ & 

V 

1 ) & 

t? ■& 

1 r ^ =’ 

if  I ne-ver  more  see  you,  you,  you. 


rfkb—. sH*  — h" 

— F &; — N 

^ te Nnr 

■ 1 

fft rr  J ^ ^ 

T3  . ^ W ' 

& 1 & & r 

.V- \J  . f*  & . 

cJ  “#■ 

I’ll  hang  my  harp 

on  a weep-ing 

wil  - low  tree,  And 

■H— 


1&— 


may  this  world  go  well  with 


you,  you, 


—0— 

you. 


Nothing  could  be  more  sweet,  simple,  and  pathetic  than  the  air. 
The  last  word  “ you  ” was  repeated  wiih  a sinking  sad  sound  “ you — 
you — you!” — a plaintiveness  like  that  of  an  evening  breeze.  There 
was  something  inexpressibly  touching  in  this  tender,  fond  little  parting 
prayer.  So  Koorali  thought  at  least.  She  found  the  tears  coming 
into  her  eyes;  she  did  not  well  know  why.  She  found  herself  repeat- 
ing, in  lowest  tone,  the  words  “ and  may  this  world  go  well  with  you 
— you — you !”  As  she  listened  she  saw  that  Morse  was  listening  too, 
and  was  apparently  absorbed  in  the  song.  When  it  was  done  he  came 
to  Zenobia. 

“Now,  where  did  you  get  that  song?  * he  asked.  “ Do  you  know 
tnat  it  is  a genuine  plantation  song — a real  nigger  melody;  not  a 
thing  got  up  for  a London  or  even  a New  York  music  hall?  I have 
not  heard  it  for  years  and  years.  We  used  to  hear  it  down  south 
during  the  American  war.  The  fugitive  slaves  used  to  come  into  our 
camps  and  take  refuge  there,  and  they  used  to  get  round  a fire  and 
sing  that  song.  ‘Rado©*  is  the  plantation  attempt  at  ‘adieu/  I do 
wish  you  would  sing  it  again.” 

Zenobia  positively  blushed  with  delight  and  pride  at  the  success  of 
her  song. 


172 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


“I  learnt  it  from  a Southern  States  woman  in  the  'pension  where  I 
found  Jo.  Didn’t  I,  Jo?  She  said  the  niggers  sang  it  on  the  planta- 
tion at  sundown.” 

Zen  sang  it  again.  Koorali  and  Morse  listened. 

“T  hat’s  all,”  said  Zen.  She  got  up,  and  Lord  Arden  took  the 
banjo  from  her,  and  presently  followed  her  to  another  part  of  the 
room. 

“ I like  your  song,”  he  said;  “and  you  have  a very  pretty  voice, 
and  should  always  sing  simple  things  like  that.  It  suits  you.” 

Zen  looked  at  him  in  her  straight  wistful  way. 

“ Do  you  think  it  would  be  better  if  I were  simpler  all  round  ? Not 
so  much  of  this  kind  of  thing  ? ” And  she  touched  the  fringe  of  beads 
which  made  a sort  of  jingling  girdle  round  her  waist.  “ Come,  honour 
bright!  ” 

Arden  laughed.  “Honour  bright!”  he  repeated.  “I  don’t  object 
to  that  sort  of  thing.  It  provides  employment  for  poor  work-girls ; 
but  I shouldn’t  mind  if  a little  of  it  were  converted  into  amusement 
for  them.” 

“ Oh,  I know,”  said  Zen.  “ Cheap  homes  and  reading-rooms,  and 
entertainments  and  all  that.  I’m  going  to  start  an  entertainment 
room  here,  and  I want  you  to  help  me.  I don’t  mean  the  banjo  sand- 
wiched between  prayers.  I’d  keep  them  separate.  I’ve  no  patience 
with  the  people  who  think  they  have  only  got  to  put  on  their  Sunday 
faces  to  fly  straight  up  to  heaven  like  a paper  kite.  That  wasn’t  what 
I meant,  Lord  Arden.  I was  thinking  of  myself.” 

Lord  Arden  was  at  that  moment  thinking  of  Koorali,  towards  whom 
his  eyes  had  turned.  She  was  sitting  some  little  distance  off,  quite 
still,  but  with  an  anxious  look  on  her  face.  She  was,  in  truth, 
absorbed  in  a low-toned  conversation  carried  on  between  Morse  and 
her  husband,  a word  of  which  she  caught  now  and  then.  It  was  on 
the  political  situation  ; the  question  of  the  appointment  had  not  as 
3 et,  she  fancied,  been  broached. 

“ Koorali  is  not  simple.  She  is  very  complicated,”  said  Zen  quickly. 

“Your  sister-in-law  is  not  a happy  woman,”  returned  Lord  Arden 
unguardedly. 

Zen  drew  a long  audible  breath.  “ Ah,  you  have  found  that  out  ? ” 
she  said. 

“I  have  let  myself  slip  into  an  indiscretion,”  replied  Arden.  “I 
have  no  reason  to  suppose  anything  of  the  kind.” 

“Oh  yes,  you  have,”  exclaimed  Zen ; “just  the  same  reason  that  I 
have  for  knowing  it,  and  that  is  only  her  face  and  her  way  this  even- 
ing.” After  a short  pause,  Zen  went  on  with  apparent  irrelevance. 
“ Were  you  quite  in  earnest  about  what  you  said  in  the  hall  this 
afternoon,  Lord  Arden?  Don’t  you  believe  there  can  be  such  a thing 
as  a happy  marriage  ? Because  I want  to  know,”  she  went  on  impetu- 
ously. “ If  it’s  an  impossibility,  you  see,  there  isn’t  much  use  in 
bothering  about  being  found  fault  with,  for  that  is  simply  the  thing  J 
can't  bear — to  be  found  fault  with.” 


“MA  y THIS  WORLD  GO  WELL  WITH  YOU."  173 


tfI  suppose  nobody  likes  it,  but  we  all  have  to  put  up  with  it,” 
replied  Arden,  uncertain  how  to  take  her,  and  still  thinking  of  Kooraii. 

“Oh,  hut  it’s  differtnt  with  me.  All  my  life  I have  been  allowed 
to  say  and  do  what  I pleased,  and  nobody  tound  fault,  or,  if  they  did,” 
added  Zen  artlessly,  “ I didn’t  care.  I don’t  mean  that  I’ve  had  a 
happy  life,  for  I haven’t.  Nobody  ever  cared  for  me  ; but  I ve  always 
d^ne  and  said  what  I liked.” 

Lord  Arden  was  touched.  “ My  dear  Mrs.  Eustace ” he  began. 

And  then  lie  saw  that  Zen’s  lips  were  quivering. 

She  pulled  herself  up  with  a sort  of  jerk  and  an  uncertain  laugh. 

“ I’m  talking  to  you  just  as  I began  to  talk  to  Kooraii  a little  while 
ago,  and  it  isn’t  my  way.  I don’t  really  mean  it.  Never  mind  ! We 
are  all  in  the  dumps,  this  evening,  aren’t  we  now  ? There’s  some- 
thing in  the  air.  Look  at  Mr.  Morse — he  hasn’t  been  like  himself 
either.  You  wouldn’t  think,  judging  from  his  face,  that  he  was  a 
successful  man  and  had  made  a happy  marriage.  If  ever  there  ought 
to  be  a happy  marriage,  I suppose  that’s  it,  for  Lady  Betty  is  just 
perfect.  Yet  I can’t  get  over  the  fancy,  Lord  Arden,  that  a woman 
who  didn’t  belong  quite  altogether  to  the  great  world  would  have 
suited  him  better,  don’t  you  know — some  one  altogether  more  romantic 
— more  like — yes,  more  like  Kooraii.” 

Arden  and  Zen  both  glanced  involuntarily  towards  Kootali  first, 
and  then  at  Morse.  They  saw  that  Crichton  had  moved  away,  and 
that  Morse’s  eyes  were  on  Kooraii.  They  saw  that  she  turned  her 
head  as  if  drawn  by  a magnetic  current,  and  that  a look  was  inter- 
changed between  the  two.  It  was  unconscious;  it  was  very  brief; 
both  pairs  of  eyes  were  instantly  averted,  but  much  was  revealed. 
The  same  thought  flashed  across  the  minds  ot  Zen  and  Arden.  She 
shot  towards  him  a glance  of  terrified  understanding.  His  eyes, 
meeting  hers,  had  something  of  the  same  expression.  Just  then 
Eustace  lounged  up,  and  said  in  his  well-bred  drawl,  “ My  dear 
Zenobia,  your  negro  melodies  are  very  original,  and  charming,  no 
doubt;  but  Lady  Clarence  is  an  excellent  musician,  in  a different 
style — don’t  you  thing  you  might  ask  her  to  play?” 

Zenobia  flushed  up,  and  with  an  abrupt  gesture  went  to  do  her  duty 
as  hostess. 

The  evening  wore  away — to  Kooraii  it  had  seemed  interminable. 
At  last  she  was  alone  in  her  room.  Just  as  they  were  going  u|  stairs, 
she  heard  Morse  propose  a cigarette  on  the  terrace  to  her  husband. 
The  sound  of  their  voices  and  steps  reached  her  now  through  the  open 
window. 

She  had  taken  off  her  dress,  and  was  wrapped  in  a loose  white  cash- 
mere  robe.  Her  hair  was  unbound  and  plaited  for  the  night  ime  a 
child’s,  in  two  long  plaits  that  fell  on  her  shoulders.  She  had  occupied 
herself  with  it  during  some  time.  She  paced  the  room  restlessly  for  a 
little  while,  then  sat  down  very  quiet  and  pale  in  an  arm-chair  by  the 
fireplace.  She  could  not  go  to  bed.  She  lelt  that  she  must  wait  up 
and  hear  Crichton’s  decision. 


174 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  LAST  APPEAL. 

An  hour  or  more  passed  slowly.  'The  steps  had  died  away,  and  KoorMi 
supposed  that  her  husband  and  Morse  had  gone  within,  perhaps  to 
carry  on  their  conversation  in  more  serious  strain.  At  last  there  was 
the  sound  of  opening  and  closing  doors,  and  of  “ Goud  nights”  inter- 
changed, and  then  Koorali  heard  the  Landle  of  her  own  door  turned, 
and  Crichton  entered. 

He  had  a look  of  suppressed  excitement.  He  held  his  head  erect, 
and  his  long,  lean  neck  seemed  longer  and  leaner,  more  than  ever  like 
that  of  one  of  those  hungry  hawks  which  Koorali  remembered  hanging 
round  the  stock-yard  fence  in  Australia.  He  shut  the  door  behind 
him  and  waited,  as  if  for  her  to  speak.  But  though  she  was  cold  with 
nervous  expectation,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  her  at  that 
moment  to  frame  a direct  question. 

“ You  are  late,”  she  said  in  a mechanical  way. 

“ I d>dn’t  expect  to  find  you  waiting  up  for  me,”  he  returned  in  that 
sarcastic  tone  which  always  chilled  Koorali’s  utterances.  “ Why  is 
this?  You  don’t  often  favour  me  with  an  opportunity  for  a conjugal 
t te-a-tcte.  You  are  generally  tired,  or  you  have  a headache,  when  I 
want  to  talk  over  things  with  you.” 

There  was  a litile  pause. 

“ Have  you  not  something  you  want  to  talk  over  with  me  to-night?” 
she  asked. 

“ No,”  he  answered,  coming  opposite  to  her,  and  eyeing  her  with  a 
curious  expression  on  his  lace ; “ I’ve  said  all  that  was  necessary 
already — to  Morse.” 

There  was  another  silence.  KoorMi  got  up  from  her  chair,  and 
moved  towards  him  a step  or  two.  Then  she  stopped  short,  and  looked 
at  him  with  anxious  eyes. 

“ (’richton,”  she  said. 

“ Well  ? ” 

“You  know  what  I want  to  speak  about?” 

“ Perhaps  I do,  perhaps  I don’t,”  he  said,  giving  a harsh  little  laugh. 
“ You  remember  the  man  in  Moliere,  Koorali  ? The  doctor  asks  him 
if  he  knows  Latin,  and  he  answers  ‘Of  course  I do,  but  speak  to  me  as 
if  I didn’t.’  " 

He  crossed  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood  with  his  back  against  the  high 
mantel-piece  and  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

“ About  Mr.  Morse,”  Koorali  went  on  in  a firm  voice  as  cold  as  his 
own.  “ He  has  spoken  to  me.  He  wants  you  to  accept  a permanent 
appointment — he  can  get  it  for  you,  out  of  England — in  one  of  the 
colonies.” 

Kenway  looked  up  and  stared  fiercely  at  her  for  a moment  or  two 
before  he  spoke  a word.  “ Does  he  take  me  for  a fool  ? ” he  said  at 


THE  LAST  APPEAL. 


175 


last.  “Do  you  take  me  for  a fool,  KoorMi  ? Do  you  think  I haven’t 
had  enough  of  the  colonies  in  my  time?  Do  you  think  I’m  going  to 
bury  myself  in  some  trumpery  colonial  place,  away  from  London  and 
from  everything  that  makes  life  worth  living  to  a man  of  sense — to 
bury  myself  out  there— with  you  ? Not  I,  my  dear.  And  so  I gave 
your  friend  Morse  to  understand.  And  so  you  may  tell  him,  too.  I 
prefer  to  take  my  chance  with  the  other  men  who  are  waiting  for  him 
to  come  into  power.  Get  him  to  try  again,  Koorkli.  I dare  say  you 
can  prevail  upon  him  to  mend  his  hand.” 

At  another  time  Koorali  would  have  resented  the  insinuation  which 
lay  only  half-hidden  under  his  tone  and  words.  Now  she  took  it 
patiently.  Did  she  not  deserve  it  ? No  thought  of  wrong  had  ever 
come  into  her  mind.  No  feeling  unworthy  of  a woman  had  ever  for 
a moment  made  her  heart  sound  to  a false  note;  and  yet  the  conscious- 
ness of  a secret  forbade  her  now  to  be  angry  at  her  husband’s  taunting 
words.  A woman  less  resolute  than  Koorali  to  do  right  would  not, 
perhaps,  have  been  so  keenly  sensitive. 

She  moved  a little  and  rested  her  hand  on  the  back  of  a couch  near 
which  she  stood.  “ Crichton,”  she  said,  very  gently  and  soothingly, 
“you  will  let  me  advise  >ou  about  this  before  you  make  up  your 
mind,  won’t  you?  Don’t  let  us  speak  bitterly  to  one  another.  I 
will  try  to  please  you  all  I can.  We  will  be  good  friends.  Our 
interests  are  the  same,  and  we  have  our  children — they  ought  to  make 
us  tender  to  each  other.  You  will  try  to  love  me,  and  I will  try  to 
love  you.  I will,  indeed ; we  are  bound  together  in  life  or  death,  we 
two ” 

Crichton  interrupted  her  with  an  impatient  gesture.  “That’s  all 
very  true,  and  very  nice,  and  very  pretty,  Koorali;  but  I don’t  quite 
see  what  it  has  to  do  with  the  question  of  a colonial  appointment. 
Come  to  the  point,  my  dear,  and  don’t  be  too  sentimental,  please.” 

“ I would  rather  you  took  Mr.  Morse’s  offer,  Crichton.” 

“ Truly,  but  I would  rather  not,  dear ; and  that  makes  all  the 
difference,  don’t  you  see  ? ” 

“ But  it  I were  to  ask  you,  Crichton  ? If  I were  to  say  that  I felt 
sure  it  would  be  better  for  you  and  better  for  me?”  Koorali  stooped 
forward  and  bent  her  pleading  face  towards  him,  but  he  kept  his 
turned  from  her.  “We  are  not  fit  for  this  sort  of  London  life — I am 
not,  at  least ; and — oh,  Crichton,  it  is  right  that  you  should  consider 
me  a little.” 

“ You  are  always  giving  me  to  understand  that  I consider  you  a 
very  little,”  he  replied;  and  he  smiled  complacently  at  his  own 
humour. 

“Oh,  I do  want  to  leave  this  place,” KooiYli  exclaimed  passionately. 
“ I want  to  be  out  of  it,  away  from  it  for  ever.  Crichton,  do  listen  to 
me ! I want  to  begin  a new  life  in  some  other  place.  I want  to  forget 
our  quarrels  and  want  of  sympathy,  and  to  start  afresh.  I do  indeed. 
I believe  that  you  and  I can  yet  be  happy  together.  At  least,  we  can 
tiy.  Let  us  try  to  be  a good  and  loving  husband  and  wife,  and  live 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


1/6 

for  each  other  and  for  our  children,  and  love  them  and  love  each  other 
in  them.  That  is  all  my  ambition  now — all,  all  my  ambition.  And 
I will  do  all  I can;  I will  be  a good,  true  wife  to  you,  and  we  will 
begin  this  new  life,  shall  we  not,  together?” 

•She  spoke  in  little  broken  sentences,  nervously  pressing  her  hands 
upon  each  other.  Crichton  looked  at  her  now  with  something  of  a 
more  serious  inquiry  in  his  eyes,  which  he  again  averted.” 

*•  I don't  understand  all  this,  Kooraii.  I don’t  complain  of  yon.  1 
don’t  see  what  you  have  to  complain  of.  Many  a woman  would  be 
glad  enough  to  stand  in  your  shoes.  As  for  there  being  a want  of 
sympathy  between  us,  I suppose  we  agree  in  looking  alter  our  interests ; 
what  more  do  you  want?  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  do  you 
expect  me  to  pay  you  compliments  and  attention  as  if  I weren’t  your 
husband  ? There  are  plenty  of  other  men  to  do  that  for  you.  You 
like  to  be  sentimental,  and  to  imagine  that  you  are  neglected  and 
unhappy.” 

“In  good  truth,  Crichton,”  she  answered,  with  a plaintive  smile,  “I 
am  often  very  lonely  and  very  unhappy,  and  I think  that  you  too 
must  often  feel  we  are  not  all  to  each  other  that  we  might  be.” 

“ I never  said  so,”  he  replied,  in  a less  rasping  tone.  “ I never  said 
that  you  didn’t  make  a good  wife  to  me.  The  fact  is,  I supp  se,  that 
you  are  too  good — in  all  that  sort  of  way — for  a man  like  me.  I dare 
say  that  I should  have  got  on  l etter  with  a woman  of  coarser  fibre.  I 
think  I get  annoyed  sometimes  by  the  thought  that  you  are  of  too  fine 
a grit  for  me,  and  that  you  know  it.  And  then  you  exceedingly  good 
little  women  have  an  irritating  way  of  looking  down  on  us  poor  sinful 
men  of  the  world.  Well,  anyhow,  I don’t  find  fault  with  you,  Kooraii, 
and  I think  we  rub  along  quite  well  enough,  as  married  people  go,  and 
so  there  is  no  necessity  to  seek  out  some  summer  isle  of  Eden  to  begin 
a new  existence  in.  That  isn’t  my  form,  dear ; I prefer  London  life. 
Here  I am,  and  here  I mean  to  stay.” 

“ Have  you  no  thought  for  me  ? ” she  pleaded.  “ Have  you  never 
thought  that  it  may  not  be  good  for  me — this  kind  of  life,  the  life  we 
lead  in  London  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  ‘ not  good  for  you  ’?  Late  hours  and  that  ? 
My  dear,  you  can  stay  at  home  if  you  like.  Of  course,  it  would  please 
me  better  that  you  should  go  out  and  be  seen  everywhere,  but  never 
mind  about  that.  Whether  I am  pleased  or  not,  it  is  of  no  particular 
consequence,  I suppose.” 

“Crichton,  you  will  not  understand  me.  I must  speak  plainly.  I 
wouldn’t  if  I could  help  it.  Do  you  think  that  a woman  has  no  feel- 
ings and  no  weakness?  You  want  me  to  go  into  society,  to  make 
friends  for  you  who  will  be  useful.  You  want  me  to  be  admired. 
Have  you  never  thought  that  I might — that  I might  come  to  like 
admiration  too  much  ? ” 

“ No,”  he  answered  coolly;  “ and  I don’t  see  what  it  would  matter 
if  you  did.  I suppose  you  could  have  enough  if  you  tried  for  it.” 

“ Oh!  ” she  cried  in  something  like  a burst  of  despair,  “ can’t  you 


THE  LAST  APPEAL.  177 

understand  that  I might  get  to  think  too  much  of  one  man’s  admira- 
tion— and  of  him  ? ” 

She  looked  at  her  husband  straight,  with  an  eager  questioning  gaze, 
as  if  she  longed,  yet  feared,  to  read  his  soul.  He  did  not  at  once 
answer,  and  he  seemed  determined  not  to  meet  her  eyes. 

“ Nothing  would  come  of  that — I know,”  he  said  at  last  with  icy 
deliberation. 

“ No,  except  suffering  to  me  ; and  you  don’t  care  about  that — you 
don’t  care  about  that,  I know.  But  I was  not  thinking  about  myself 
only,  Crichton,”  she  went  on  in  a tone  of  forced  quietness,  “I  was 
thinking  about  you.  This  life  does  not  suit  you.  It  never  could.  You 
would  grow  worse  and  worse  in  it.  I mean  that  you  could  never  be 
rich  enough  for  the  people  you  care  to  live  among ; and  you  would  try 
and  strain  to  keep  up  with  them  and  be  like  them,  and  it  would  be  all 
a miserable  mistake,  with  ruin  at  the  end.  See  liovv  we  have  been 
going  to  ruin  here — in  this  short  time.  What  appointment  could  you 
get  in  England  which  would  give  you  half,  or  quarter,  the  money  you 
want  to  scend?  Oh,  I have  thought  it  all  out;  and  I could  bear  my 
own  troubles,  whatever  they  might  be.”  She  stiffened  herself  up  with 
a feeling  of  womanly  pride.  “And  nothing,  as  you  say,  would  come 
of  that.  But  I see  only  ruin  for  you  and  disgrace  for  our  children  in 
the  life  we  are  sure  to  lead.  I see  us  drifting  farther  and  farther  apart, 
till  I tremble  to  think  of  what  may  come  of  it.  I can  answer  for  my- 
self, but  you  cannot  answer  for  yourself,  and  you  know  it.  My 
husband,  forgive  me.  I want  to  take  care  of  you,  and  I want  you, 
Heaver,  knows,  to  take  care  of  me.” 

Crichton  made  a few  impatient  steps,  and  came  back  to  his  former 
position. 

“Look  here,  Koor&li,”  be  said,  “ I think  we  have  had  about  enough 
of  this.  You  need  not  trouble  about  me.  I would  much  rather  be 
ruined,  as  you  call  it,  in  London,  than  lead  a stupid  humdrum 
existence  on  a small  salary  as  the  governor  of  some  pitiful  hole  of 
a colony.  I don’t  care  about  fine  climate ; I have  had  fine  climate 
enough  already.  Pall  Mall  and  Piccadilly  are  good  enough  for  me.  I 
want  to  be  at  the  centre  of  things.  I want  to  live  in  the  world,  and 
I mean  to  do  it  too  ; so  that’s  settled.  As  for  you — well,  my  mind  is 
quite  at  ease  about  you . I know  the  sort  of  woman  you  are.  You’re 
cold  enough  and  proud  enough  to  be  able  to  help  me  without  doing  any 
harm  to  yourself.  Come,  1 don’t  mean  anything  tragic.”  For  she 
had  siarted,  and  her  eyes  flashed  on  him.  “Why  will  you  always 
take  things  and  me  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  virtuous  heroine  of 
the  Surrey  Theatre?  It’s  stupid.  It’s  provincial.  It  isn’t  life — at 
any  rate,  it  isn’t  my  idea  of  life,  and  I think  I’m  a fair  sample  of  the 
man  of  the  world.  We  have  got  to  live  in  the  world,  and  to  deal  with 
worldly  men  and  women ; not  with  a set  of  saints  and  prigs,  or  melo- 
dramatic demons  either.” 

“ I want  to  understand  yon,”  she  said  very  quietly.  “ Your  way  of 
looking  at  things  is  not  my  way.  I want  to  follow  you  if  I can — I 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.1 


17  3 

mean  in  what  you  say  about  my  being  able  to  help  you.  Tell  me 
what  it  is  you  wish  me  to  do.  Tell  me  in  plain  words.” 

“ Sit  down,  then,”  said  Ken  way.  “You  look  so  deucedly  uncom- 
fortable and  superior  standing  up  there.  It’s  very  simple.  I only 
want  you  to  make  my  interests  yours  — and,  by  Jove,  you  can’t 
separate  them — and  to  enjoy  life.”  He  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair 
as  he  spoke,  and  Koorali,  obeying  him,  sat  down  upon  the  sofa  by 
which  she  had  been  standing.  She  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

“ You  are  a very  pretty  woman,”  said  Kenway  at  last,  “ and  a very 
clever  one,  in  your  way ; a very  good  woman  too.  I have  the  fullest 
trust  in  you.  I have  a higher  opinion  of  you  than  you  seem  to  have 
of  yourself,  Koorali.” 

Her  lips  tightened  a little  ; she  did  not  answer. 

“The  world  is  our  oyster,”  continued  Kenway,  “and  we  have  got  to 
open  it — you  and  I.  It  should  not  be  a hard  task.  I flatter  myself 
that  I am  something  more  than  merely  beauty’s  husband.  Morse  has 
obligingly  told  me  this  evening  that  I have  claims  and  capabilities.  A 
great  deal  depends  on  you.  You  are  quite  right.  We  are  husband 
and  wiie — bound  to  each  other — and  we  must  stand  or  fall  together. 
I only  ask  from  you  what  any  clever  man  has  a right  to  expect  from  a 
clever  wife.” 

Kenway  waited  again  for  a moment ; but  Koorali  was  still  silent. 

“You  did  not  make  the  use  which  you  might  have  made  of  your 
opportunities  this  season,”  he  said.  “ By  an  extraordinary  piece  of 
luck  we  managed  to  get  into  the  thick  of  the  political  set.  With  a 
little  tact,  and  by  driving  the  nail  home  at  the  right  moment,  you 
might  have  made  enormous  interest  in  different  quarters.  As  it  is, 
you  forced  me  to  put  all  my  eggs  into  one  basket.” 

“ I don’t  know  what  you  mean,”  she  said  slowly.  “ How  forced 
you  ? ” 

“ Come,  hang  it,  Koorali ! You  know  that  Morse’s  attentions  to  you 
were  pretty  well  talked  over  at  the  clubs  and  in  the  drawing-rooms. 
Do  you  suppose  that  people  didn’t  remark  how  often  he  came  to  see 
you,  how  he  singled  you  out  at  places,  and  the  keen  interest  you  took 
in  his  political  views  ? I’m  not  hinting  anything  derogatory  to  you 
or  him,  or  to  myself.  I fancy  that  I know  how  to  take  care  of  my 
wife ; but  the  other  men  who  might  have  pushed  me  forward  dropped 
away.  It  was  your  fault.” 

“ Crichton,”  said  Koorali  passionately,  “ you  know  very  well  why 
that  was.  Oh,  I have  learned  a great  deal  during  these  months.  I 
could  not  enoure  some  of  those  men.  I don’t  know  how  you  could 
endure  them.” 

“You  choked  off  Coulmont,  who  will  be  a power  if  the  war  party 
carries  the  day.  He  is  a man  who  never  forgets  or  forgives  being  made 
to  feel  small,  and  you  made  him  feel  small.  It  was  stupid,  dear.  As 
long  as  I didn’t  mind  a little  silly  sentiment,  you  might  safely  have 
amused  yourself  with  it.  Another  woman  would  have  managed  the 
situation,  and  would  have  kept  his  friendship.” 


THE  LAST  APPEAL. 


179 

“ I believed  that  I had  kept  his  friendship — or,  at  least,  his  respect.'’ 

“ Oh,  that’s  rot ! ” said  Ken  way  with  his  incisive  drawl.  “ It  doesn’t 
go  down  with  a man  like  Coulmont.  I can  see  through  his  offer  of 
this  appointment.  What  I can’t  see  through  is  why  Morse  wants  me 
to  accept  it — unless  Lady  Betty  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  thing.” 

KoorMi’s  chest  heaved.  She  was  suffering  as  only  a proud  woman 
can  suffer. 

“ No ; I don’t  understand  it,”  Kenway  went  on  reflectively.  “ A 
man  doesn't  generally  do  his  best  to  put  a woman  whose  society  pleases 
him  out  of  reach — not  such  a man  as  Morse  — Coulmont  is  quite 
another  sort.  Of  course  you  did  the  right  thing  from  the  ‘lofty 
morality’  point  of  view,  in  turning  the  cold  shoulder  on  him;  but 
women  of  the  world  have  ways  of  gliding  over  the  quicksands  without 
loss  of  dignity.  You  managed  badly,  dear.  You  should  try  a little 
finesse . It’s  an  accomplishment,  however,  not  to  be  learned  in  South 
Britain.  Well,  never  mind,  you  lost  Coulmont,  and  you  lost  Inglish 
and  Barry ; and  next  season  you  will  be  a little  out  of  date,  and  the 
crisis  will  be  over.  If  Morse  hasn’t  come  in,  my  chance  will  have 
slipped  by.” 

“Mr.  Morse  may  not  come  into  power,”  said  Koorali,  still  in  that 
quiet,  repressed  way.  “He  has  told  me  that  it  is  likely  he  will  not 
take  the  chance  even  if  it  is  offered  him.  Wouldn’t  it  be  better, 
Crichton,  seeing  that  I have,  as  you  say,  mismanaged  opportunities,  to 
secure  this  one  ?” 

“ Morse  will  go  in,”  said  Crichton.  “ I don’t  believe  in  the  con- 
scientious scruple  which  holds  a man  back  from  being  Prime  Minister 
of  England.  Hasn’t  he  been  working  up  to  this  for  years?  His  party 

wouldn’t  let  him  draw  back.  By  G-od,  if  he  does ” Kenway  got 

up  excitedly  from  his  seat.  He  made  a few  hurried  paces,  then  stopped 
at  the  mantel-piece  in  his  old  attitude.  “Listen,  Koorkli,”  he  said. 
“ Morse  will  be  in  power,  and  he  will  get  me  a good  appointment  if 
you  play  your  cards  properly.  I’m  not  blind.  I’m  not  a fool.  Drop 
the  part  of  stage  heroine,  and  be  a woman  of  the  world.  You  like 
Morse’s  society.  He  likes  yours.  You  like  the  London  life,  though 
you’ve  imagined  yourself  into  an  hysterical  dread  of  unreal  evils — the 
glittering  throng,  the  modern  Babylon,  and  so  on.  If  you  want  us  to 
get  on  happily  together,  and  to  be  a united  husband  and  wife — if  you 
want  to  further  your  boys’  interests,  this  is  how  you  can  do  it.  Keep 
good  friends  with  Lady  Betty,  and  be  Morse’s  political  Egeria — if  you 
both  like  it.  Why  should  he  want  to  pack  you  off  to  a distant  colony  ? 
Why  should  you  wish  to  go  ? ” 

Koorali  rose,  almost  blindly.  “ Because — because Oh,  Crichton, 

have  you  no  mercy  ?”  She  stretched  out  her  arms  helplessly.  It  was 
indeed  as  if  she  were  clutching  at  some  spar  out  of  the  sea,  and  the 
hand  which  ought  to  have  helped  her  to  safety  had  only  seized  her 
wrist  to  detach  it  from  its  hold  and  fling  her  out  again  upon  the  dark 
tossing  waters.  Her  voice  broke  in  a passionate  sob ; but  she  com- 
manded it  after  a moment.  “ I will  never  ask  Mr.  Morse  to  give  you 


i So 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


an  appointment  in  England,”  she  cried.  “Let  us  get  deeper  and 
deeper  into  debt — let  us  starve  first.  This  is  our  last  word  on  this 
subject.  I thought,  Crichton,  that  if  you  had  ever  loved  me,  you 
would  help  me,  and  be  gentle  and  good  to  me,  not  cold  and  sneering 
and  cruel,  when  I came  to  you  like  this,  when  I asked  you  for  my 
sake,  when  I wanted  so  to  begin  afresh,  and  to  be  a good  and  true  wife 
to  you.  But  it  can’t  be.  It’s  no  use.  You  don’t  love  me.  You  can, 
never  have  loved  me — and  I — Heaven  help  me  ! — I can’t  love  you. 
Crichton,  and  I can’t  respect  you.  And  so  we  must  go  our  ways,  and 
it  may  be  ruin  and  misery ; or,  it  may  be,  that  you  will  get  what  you 
want  now,  and  the  worst  ruin  and  misery  will  come  later.  I don’t 
think  there  can  be  any  worse  ruin,  Crichton,  or  any  worse  misery  than 
such  a marriage  as  ours.” 

She  passed  him  swiftly,  and  almost  before  he  could  realize  that  she 
was  leaving  the  room,  had  closed  behind  her  a heavy  oak  door  at  one 
side  of  the  fireplace.  It  led  into  a tiny  boudoir — one  of  the  curious 
nooks  in  that  part  of  the  house  which  Zen  had  fitted  up.  Koorali  shot 
the  holt ; and  then  she  flung  herself  upon  a cushioned  settee  beneath 
the  high  mullioned  window,  and  all  her  passion  and  her  difficult  effort 
spent  itself  in  a storm  of  sobs. 

Kenway  made  several  attempts  to  open  the  door;  but  it  did  not 
yield.  He  called  her — at  first  angrily,  then  soothingly — but  she  made 
no  answer;  indeed,  she  hardly  heard  his  voice.  By-and-by  he  desisted, 
and  all  was  silent.  There  was  no  light  in  the  room,  except  the  un- 
certain glimmer  from  without.  All  the  rest  of  the  night  Kooiali  sat 
there.  After  the  first  burst  of  sobbing,  she  cried  no  more.  Her  heart 
seemed  frozen.  The  pale  grey  dawn  crept  in  through  the  window  and 
found  her  still  sitting  there  all  cold  and  white  and  lonely. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

“THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE.” 

But  in  those  grey  hours,  brain, heart, and  soul  were  working;  and  the 
Kooiali  who  watched  the  dawn  creep  in  and  the  sun  rise  on  that 
morning — a turning-point  indeed  in  her  life — was  not  the  Koorali  of 
yesterday — the  struggling,  bewildered  creature,  feeble  and  uncertain, 
not  daring  to  trust  in  her  own  strength,  but  beating  helplessly  this 
way  and  that,  and  in  her  despair  clutching  at  a reed  for  support. 

The  reed  had  pierced  her  hand.  As  she  sat  there,  with  her  head 
pressed  back  against  the  stone  frame  of  the  window,  and  her  arms 
clasping  her  knees  in  that  childlike  attitude  of  hers,  it  came  more  and 
more  in  upon  her  that  she  had  known  from  the  very  first  how  it  would 
be,  and  yet  had  never  told  herself.  She  seemed  to  have  read  her 
husband’s  character  from  their  marriage  day,  and  yet  to  have  struggled 
on,  wilfully  blinding  herself.  She  felt  a great  scorn  and  a great  pity 
over  the  futile  efforts  she  so  well  remembered  having  made.  She  had 


THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE .’ 


181 


tried  so  hard  to  believe  that  he  was  not  base,  that  his  selfishness,  his 
bad  temper  and  constant  reach  for  the  lowest  motives,  were  only  faults 
on  the  surface  ami  not  rooted  in  his  nature.  Her  very  acceptance  of 
him  as  he  was,  her  dulness  and  indifference  had  been  a sort  of  self- 
deception,  evident  to  her  had  she  allowed  herself  to  analyze.  But  she 
had  been  living  too  keenly  during  the  past  months  for  indifference  to 
be  any  longer  possible.  She  knew  her  husband  as  he  was — as  he  had 
always  been— cold-hearted,  mean,  cruel;  one  who  would  sell  his  wife 
— in  the  spirit,  if  not  in  the  letter ; trade  upon  her  “ temperament ; ” 
traffic  wdth  her  smiles ; train  her  to  be  as  cold  and  selfish  and  base  as 
himself. 

“ It  is  wrong.  It  cannot  be ; ” a voice  within  her  spoke  passionately. 
“ God  never  joined  two  souls  for  baseness.  I am  not  his  wife.  He  is 
not  my  husband.  I despise  him — I shrink  from  him.  I — oh,  God 
help  me! — I hate  him.  What  right  has  he  over  mo — or  over  my 
children,  to  make  them  as  bad  as  he  is? ” 

She  did  not  feel  weak  now,  or  uncertain.  An  icy  self-reliance  sus- 
tained her.  She  thought  the  matter  out.  Her  very  forlornness  and 
her  desperation  gave  her  strength  and  courage  to  face  the  position — to 
face  it  with  a strange  mingling  of  romantic  exaltation  and  worldly 
wisdom.  She  knew  the  part  she  must  play;  the  life  she  must  at 
least  appear  to  lead.  She  and  Crichton  were  divided  in  mind  and 
feeling  as  completely  as  though  they  were  strangers.  Had  themselves 
alone  been  in  question,  her  reason  and  her  instinct  of  right  would  have 
declared  that  they  had  better  live  apart,  and  she  would  have  gone — - 
whither  she  cared  not,  so  that  she  were  away  from  him  and  alone. 
But  her  children  were  chains  which  held  her  fast;  would  hold  hei 
for  ever.  Her  sense  of  duty  to  them  must  override  her  wild  longing 
for  freedom,  her  sense  of  duty  to  herself.  She  must  remain  by  her 
husband’s  side,  by  the  side  of  the  father  of  her  children.  She  must 
show  a semblance  of  union  to  the  world,  must  shut  eyes,  ears,  heart, 
and  live  blind,  deaf,  and  starved  of  love,  for  her  children’s  s^ke.  But 
she  would  lend  herself  to  no  ignoble  schemes.  Her  children  should  be 
taught  to  honour  disinterestedness.  Ruin  might  come— and,  in  truth, 
might  it  not  be  best ; for,  when  Crichton  found  her  a burden,  might 
he  not  give  her  liberty  and  the  children?  She  would  not  steal  her 
liberty ; but  oh,  how  gladly  would  she  take  it  if  Crichton  released  her, 
and  allowed  her  and  her  boys  to  go ! 

This  w’as  the  part  she  laid  down  for  herself.  There  should  be  ~<o 
more  effort  to  reconcile  antagonistic  natures,  no  more  beating  against 
the  bars.  She  must  accept  her  lot,  and  bear  it  as  nobly  as  she  might. 
Better  loneliness,  desolation,  than  a perpetual  pressing  forward  against 
knife-thrusts.  One  possession,  at  least,  she  owned,  which  dignified  her 
for  ever.  To  have  it  fuller  or  richer  would  be  to  dishonour  it.  She 
was  glad  that  Morse  had  never  spoken  one  word  of  love  to  her — that 
she  could  look  into  Lady  Betty’s  eyes  and  know  herself  no  traitress, 
Her  king,  her  knight,  her  blameless  hero ! Thank  God  that  there 
were  men  like  him,  to  make  women  believe  in  truth  and  goodness  I 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


1S2 

She  had  almost  let  her  faith  slip.  Was  not  that  the  wcrst  sorrow  ? 
If  all  men  in  the  world  were  like  Crichton,  what  poverty  in  Heaven  ! 
The  woman’s  heart  bled.  As  it  bled  there  came  an  involuntary 
murmur,  woman-like,  wilful.  “Might  he  not  have  kissed  me  just 
once?”  But  it  was  silenced  in  an  instant;  and  she  put  the  thought 
from  her  as  something  evil,  as  of  something  outside  herself  working 
for  evil.  Yet  it  was  only  a thought,  sweet  and  tender  and  poetic. 
Her  lips  had  never  in  her  life  been  touched  by  those  of  any  lover, 
save,  indeed,  her  husband;  and  she  had  been  proud  that  this  was  so, 
with  a kind  of  hard,  melancholy  pride.  Now  she  knew  that  something 
had  been  wanting  to  her  always,  and  must  always  be  wanting.  She 
felt  like  the  childless  mother,  whose  little  one  has  never  seen  the 
light. 

In  good  truth,  Koorali  was  thirsting  for  some  expression  of  the  love 
which  every  woman  feels  should  be  hers  by  right  of  nature.  There 
was  a painful  stab  in  the  knowledge  that  she  could  have  loved,  and 
loved  well.  Oh  yes,  yes;  Koorali  knew  that  she,  who  seemed  so  cold 
and  niggardly,  could  warm  under  the  right  influence,  and  give  a love 
beyond  the  gift  of  most  women  and  worthy  of  the  beloved  one.  She 
knew’  herself  to  have  been  warped,  stunted  by  her  marriage.  There 
was  bitterness  and  wrong  here.  All  the  petty  bickering  and  clashings, 
the  resentful  withdrawing  into  herself,  the  constant  and  bewildering 
readjustment  of  her  standard — all  this  had  been  so  much  injury  to  what 
God  had  created.  She  dared  not  think  of  herself  as  she  might  have 
been,  fitly  mated.  It  w?as  like  a tantalizing  glimpse  of  an  impossible 
heaven  on  earth.  Could  any  heaven  accordant  with  tradition  give  her 
the  sunshine  under  which  her  nature  might  blossom  to  perfection? 
A right  to  one,  a wrong  to  another  equally  deserving;  the  w7hole 
scheme  an  impossible  puzzle.  Then  why  these  cruel  glimmerings  of 
an  ideal  ? 

Koorali  might  well  have  lost  anchorage.  Like  many  women  of 
delicate  fibre,  however,  she  had  at  times  of  crisis  a curious  strength  of 
resolution  and  power  of  fighting  her  way  straight  through  opposing 
forces.  Nervously  impressionable  as  she  was,  her  spirit  rose  and  she 
felt  a certain  excitement  in  the  prospect  of  a battle,  whether  hidden  or 
in  the  open.  Her  battle  now  could  not  be  in  the  open.  What  she 
had  to  do  was  very  clear.  She  was  Crichton’s  wife — his  servant,  she 
reflected  bitterly,  without  a servant’s  privileges.  Unless  he  gave  her  her 
freedom,  she  must  for  her  children’s  sake  remain  subject  to  him.  He 
chose  to  expose  her  to  danger,  and  she  must  defend  herself.  She  had 
made  her  appeal  to  him  for  protection,  and  it  had  been  fruitless.  It 
was  not  temptation  she  dreaded — there  she  was  safe  — but  suffering. 
Well,  she  must  wrap  herself  round,  and  silently  bear  her  pain.  As 
Morse  had  said,  a great  misfortune  had  come  to  him  and  her,  and 
there  was  nothing  but  to  bear  it — to  go  on  with  her  life  and  give  no 
sign.  Under  altered  conditions  endurance  becomes  easier.  This  was 
the  worst  kind.  She  must  live  in  conventional  intercourse  with  her 
husband — in  conventional  intercourse  with  the  man  she  loved.  Her 


“ THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE: 


183 

hope  lay  in  clinging  to  the  conventional.  Morse,  she  was  certain, 
would  understand  her.  With  Crichton  she  would  simply  stand  armed 
on  the  defensive,  ignoring  as  far  as  she  could  the  real  knowledge  of 
him,  and  hiding  her  feelings  under  a mask  of  courtesy.  She  would 
try  to  he  always  courteous  to  him,  to  comply  with  his  ordinary  wishes, 
to  talk  to  him  on  the  outside  of  things,  to  yield  where  no  principle 
was  involved.  She  would  never  again  attempt  to  reason,  or  argue,  or 
appeal.  She  hoped  that  he  would  be  content  with  such  seeming. 
Since  she  had  satisfied  herself  that  he  did  not  care  for  her,  sh^  thouilit 
this  possible.  Her  imagination  travelled  too  swiftly  to  take  count 
of  all  the  difficulties,  and  she  did  not  foresee  the  galling  of  such  yoke- 
fellowship. 

The  old  friendly  companionship  with  Morse,  she  decided,  must  not 
he  resumed.  In  the  presence  of  Lady  Betty  and  of  others  she  must 
seem  what  she  had  always  been,  and  continue  still  to  show  the  old 
interest  in  Morse’s  career;  but  below  the  surface  all  would  he  different. 
She  must  avoid  being  alone  with  him,  and  he  w<*uld  help  her  in  this. 
There  would  be  no  more  droppings-in  on  his  way  to  the  House  of 
Commons  for  a quiet  confidential  chat,  no  more  saunterings  on  the 
terrace,  no  more  of  the  vaguely  tender,  wholly  intimate  notes  dashed 
off  in  the  upstairs  lobby  during  the  intervals  of  debate  to  tell  her  how 
things  were  going  on — all  this  must  come  to  an  end. 

So  it  was  that  the  morning,  though  it  found  her  pale  and  wasted  by 
the  torturing  thoughts  and  sleepless  night,  found  her  also  composed, 
and  with  the  almost  stupefying  sense  of  a new  existence  begun.  She 
was  spared  the  meeting  with  her  husband  for  two  or  three  hours  yet. 
She  heard  him  called  when  the  first  signs  of  movement  becian  in  the 
house,  and  remembered  that  some  of  the  party  were  going  out  cub- 
hunting that  morning,  he  among  them.  Presently  the  horses  came 
round  and  were  led  up  and  down  the  gravel  sweep.  Oh  yes,  the  world 
went  on,  and  people  got  up  at  six  o’clock  for  cub-hunting,  and  scolded 
their  grooms  and  swore  over  the  ties  of  their  gaiters,  no  matter  whether 
hearts  were  breaking  within  a few  feet  of  them. 

Zen’s  robust  voice  sounded  at  Crichton’s  door,  inquiring  if  he  were 
ready,  and  he  replied  in  his  most  genial  tones  with  a compliment 
upon  her  punctuality.  Crichton  cultivated  what  Lord  Beaconsfield 
once  called  “a  violent  good  humour”  in  his  manner  to  Zen. 

When  they  had  gone  Koorali  came  out  of  her  retreat.  She  was  stiff 
and  chilled,  and  she  shrank  back  at  the  sight  of  her  own  image  in  the 
cheval-glass — it  looked  so  like  a ghost.  She  crept  into  bed,  and  slept 
like  a tired  child. 

She  rose  late.  Crichton  came  into  her  room,  still  in  his  hunting 
clothes,  when  she  was  almost  dressed.  He  looked  at  her  nervously  as 
he  entered.  There  was  some  fear  in  his  mind  lest  he  had  gone  too  far 
— had  put  things  too  plainly,  and  roused  her  indignation  or  hurt  her 
feelings.  There  was  so  much  “twaddle  and  rot,”  as  he  phrased  it,  in 
women  of  the  higher  type.  Of  course  it  was  the  right  theory  that 
one’s  wife  should  belong  to  the  higher  type,  but  the  lower  one  was 


"THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


184 

infinitely  pleasanter  to  deal  with.  However,  he  reflected,  women’s 
feelings  are  more  readily  amenable  to  marital  treatment,  and  it  must 
be  a very  unreasonable  wife  who,  after  ten  years’  experience,  looks  for 
sentiment  and  fine  speeches  from  her  husband.  Koorali  had  been 
out  of  sorts  the  night  before.  Probably,  if  the  truth  could  be  known, 
she  had  herself  felt  dissatisfied  with  the  progress  of  her  flirtation  with 
Morse.  Kenway  was  an  old  hand  at  it,  and  she  evidently  wasn’t  quite 
up  to  all  the  tactics  of  the  game,  and  had  a little  overdone  the  pirt 
of  rigid  propriety.  She  had  resented  his  apparent  wish  to  remove  her 
from  London,  and  her  resentment  had  found  vent  in  the  little  out- 
burst. Crichton  knew  what  that  sort  of  thing  meant,  and  how  long 
it  lasted.  Koorali  could  take  a very  practical  view  of  matters  when 
she  liked.  She  had  probably  come  to  that  view  by  this  time,  and  had 
determined  to  handle  Morse  more  artfully.  The  darting  thought  shot 
through  him — was  the  whole  thing  a put-up  job,  after  the  Lord  Steyne 
and  Becky  Sharp  pattern,  to  get  him,  Crichton,  out  of  the  way?  By 
the  Lord,  if  that  were  so,  he’d  soon  show  them  that  he  wasn’t  a man 
to  stand  that  sort  of  thing ! But  the  sight  of  his  wife’s  pale  pure 
face,  as  she  sat  under  her  maid’s  hands  before  the  glass,  forced  the 
suggestion  from  his  mind.  No ; Koorali  wasn’t  deep  enough  for  that. 
She  had  only  had  a slight  access  of  hysterical  virtue — had  been  a little 
frightened  perhaps,  had  not  given  him  credit  for  intending  to  take  care 
of  her.  Of  course  he  would  keep  things  from  going  too  liar;  he  could 
not  let  her  be  placed  in  a false  position.  In  the  meantime  she  must 
be  taught  to  play  her  cards  like  a woman  of  the  world — to  play  into  his 
hand.  It  was  quite  time  that  she  should  see  there  need  be  no  affecta- 
tion between  them.  Doubtless  she  was  beginning  to  see  this  already. 

The  composed  way  in  which  she  looked  up  as  he  approached  con- 
firmed this  theory.  Her  face  was  like  that  of  a statue — but  it  smiled. 
Evidently  she  meant  him  to  understand  that  there  was  no  ill-feeling 
on  her  part.  He  began  to  admire  her  as  a woman  of  sense,  and  to  feel 
more  comfortable. 

“Good  morning,  Crichton,”  she  said  quietly.  “I  hope  that  you 
enjoyed  your  run.” 

“ One  doesn’t  expect  much  of  a run  at  this  time  of  the  year,”  re- 
turned Crichton,  with  an  easy  laugh.  “We  had  a little  spin  after  a 
game  cub.  Old  Dobito  was  none  the  worse  for  his  potations  last 
night,  and  a good  many  of  the  fellows  sneered;  and  it  was  a little 
hard  on  Zen  the  way  they  seemed  to  think  I ought  to  be  at  tho 
Priory.  By  Jove,  if  I were  Eustace,  I’d  go  in  for  something  better 
than  French  novels.”  Crichton  came  up  closer  to  Koorali,  and  put 
his  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  The  maid  had  left  the  room.  “I  hope 
that  you  are  pretty  well,  dear?”  There  was  an  ill-concealed  touch  of 
anxiety  in  his  tone.  Now  was  the  moment  for  fuss,  if  she  meant 
to  make  any. 

“ Yes,  thank  you,”  KoorMi  replied,  rising  as  she  spoke,  so  that  he 
was  obliged  to  take  his  hand  away.  “I  will  go  downstairs  now.  Do 
you  know  where  everybody  is  to  be  found  ? ” 


“ THOU  SI/ALT  RENOUNCE} 


i35 

44  Oh,  about  the  tennis-ground,  I fancy.  I said  that  I’d  play  a 
match  with  Jo  Garling  as  soon  as  I had  got  into  my  flannels.’* 
Crichton’s  air  was  now  quite  self-assured.  Clearly,  Koor&li  was  going 
to  be  reasonable.  The  counsels  of  the  night  had  brought  her  wisdom. 
“By  the  way,  Koorali,”  he  began,  and  paused  ior  an  instant  while  sho 
steadily  took  up  a ring  from  a stand  on  the  toilette  table,  and  put  it 
on  her  finger,  44  Morse  has  had  a telegram  or  something  from  Lady 
Betty,  and  starts  off  at  once  to  meet  her  in  London.  He  was  asking 
after  you.” 

44 1 will  go  down,”  said  Koorali  mechanically.  She  put  on  her  rings 
one  by  one. 

“I  don’t  think  you  need  say  anything  to  him  about  that  question 
of  the  appointment,”  said  Crichton  in  an  off-hand  way. 

“No,”  she  answered. 

“ Better  let  the  whole  thing  stand  over  till  after  the  elections ; and 
then  see  what  my  luck  turns  up.  I’m  a great  believer  in  my  luck. 
It  has  carried  me  over  a nasty  place  more  than  once — eh,  old  girl?” 

Koorali  was  silent;  but  he  repeated  his  question  and  forced  her  to 
answer  him.  She  turned  to  him  with  that  hard  bright  look  in  her 
eyes  which  puzzled  while  it  reassured  him. 

“You  know  the  saying,  Crichton — about  riding  luck  to  the  devil 
— isn’t  it?  I don’t  myself  believe  in  trusting  to  one’s  luck,  perhaps — 
because  my  luck  has  never  helped  me  in  a trouble.”  She  moved  to 
the  door.  “I’ll  tell  Jo,  shall  1,  that  you  will  be  down  presently?” 
she  said,  and  left  him. 

Crichton  hummed  an  air  softly  to  himself  as  he  changed  his  clothes. 
His  gallop  that  morning  had  done  him  good.  He  meant  to  have  some 
capital  days’  hunting  that  season.  His  short  experience  of  the  country 
had  already  shown  him  that  he  might  be  very  popular  in  the  field. 
“What  a confounded  ass  Eustace  is,”  he  murmured;  “and  what  a 
confounded  ass  I was  not  to  wait  till  I got  home,  and  marry  a woman 
with  money.”  On  the  whole,  however,  he  did  not  look  so  darkly 
upon  life.  He  felt  inwardly  convinced  that  Morse  would  never  throw 
up  his  chances,  and  that  Morse  could  and  would,  if  Koorali  chose,  give 
him  something  good  in  London.  He  did  not  intend  to  be  Governor  of 
Farnesia,  unless  the  worst  came  to  the  very  worst,  and  if  it  did,  and 
Farnesia  could  not  keep,  something  else  would  turn  up— something 
else,  or,  as  he  melodramatically  put  it,  revenge.  He  was  not  going  to 
be  played  fast  and  loose  with  and  not  strike  a blow  on  his  own  account. 
Underlying  his  outward  friendship  with  Morse  there  was  a deep 
jealous  resentment.  He  hated  Morse  for  being  stronger,  better,  and 
more  prosperous  than  himself.  He  hated  Morse,  who  he  taught  him- 
self to  believe  had  started  only  a little  ahead  of  him  in  the  race,  for 
having  gained  the  goal  so  quickly ; for  having  been  successful  in 
Australia,  and  still  more  successful  in  England  ; for  having  married 
such  a wife  as  Lady  Betty,  highly  born  and  rich.  In  a strange  incon- 
sistent way  he  resented  while  he  encouraged  Morse’s  admiration  of 
KoorMi.  He  felt  angry  and  secretly  humiliated  because  Murso  had 
13 


1 86  "THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE." 

found  that  in  KoorMi  which  he  had  never  found,  had  touched  a spring 
in  her  nature  that  he  had  never  reached.  There  was  something 
warped,  morbid,  and  unnatural  in  his  feelings  towards  Morse.  He 
meant  to  make  use  of  Morse’s  power  if  he  could.  Failing  that,  he 
would  joyfully  have  lent  a hand  to  hurl  Morse  from  his  position,  and 
bring  discredit  upon  him. 

There  was  a slight  autumnal  chill  about  the  air  which  at  another 
time  Kooiali  mi-ht  have  found  pleasant  and  reviving.  Now,  however, 
it  seemed  to  strike  cold  to  her  heart.  It  was  only  too  much  in  accord 
with  the  chill  which  everything  else  brought  with  it  to  her.  She 
went  out  in  front  of  the  house.  A little  group  of  men  and  women 
was  there,  and  Koorali  saw  Morse  among  them.  They  were  laughing 
and  talking  gaily.  She  went  towards  them.  When  Morse  saw  her 
coming  he  went  out  to  meet  her.  So  did  Lord  Arden. 

They  talked  the  fine  weather  a little ; and  Morse  spoke  of  his 
having  to  go  up  to  town  and  his  regret  at  leaving  so  pleasant  a gather- 
ing. It  was  the  regular  conventional  sort  of  talk.  Arden  struck  in, 
and  some  pleasant  things  were  said,  and  Kooiali  was  as  bright  as  she 
cuuld  contrive  to  be ; and  no  one  merely  looking  on  would  have  sus- 
pected that  any  soul’s  tragedy  was  being  enacted  there  all  the  time. 
Some  one  else  added  himself  or  herself  to  the  group  and  others  dis- 
persed, and  it  was  about  the  time  when  Morse  ought  to  be  saying 
good-bye  to  his  hostess  and  his  friends. 

It  had  grown  to  be  quite  a common  thing  for  Morse  and  Koorali  to  walk 
together  and  talk,  and  so  it  happened  that  the  others  of  the  company 
gradually  dropped  away.  Miss  Jo  and  Mr.  Erie  were  flirting  demurely 
over  the  tennis-net.  Now  Crichton  came  out,  and  a set  was  being 
formed.  Morse  and  Koorali  were  left  alone.  They  began  to  pace  up 
and  down  in  the  old  way.  Koorali  held  her  bnath.  She  knew  he 
would  do  the  right  thing  ; yet  the  moment  was  critical,  and  she  felt 
profoundly  anxious.  They  were  near  the  rose  gaiden  and  that  flight 
of  steps  where  he  had  gathered  the  roses  lor  her  on  that  day.  The 
broad  walk  below,  with  its  myrt!es  and  magnolias  blooming  in  the 
embrasures  of  the  wall,  and  its  tangled  border  of  late  flowers,  seemed 
to  invite  them  for  a last  brief  intercl  aoge  of  confidence.  Koorali 
s*»metimes  thought  herself  pitifully  weak,  womanish.  Her  heart  beat 
with  longing  and  dread.  But  the  strength  of  the  mm  showed  now. 
At  first  he  seemed  about  to  go  down  the  steps  that  led  to  the  lower 
terrace;  but  he  suddenly  checked  himself  and  a shade  came  over  his 
face.  Well,  she  need  fear  no  longer.  She  knew  what  was  passing  in 
his  mind.  No;  they  must  not  go  there — ever  again.  Her  heart  was 
as  an  echo  of  his.  Then  Morse  spoke — 

“ it  is  rather  a nuisance  to  have  to  go  back  to  town  at  this  reason, 
Mrs.  Kenway,”  he  said,  “ when  everybody  is  away.” 

Yes;  she  understood.  It  wras  exactly  what  she  would  have  had; 
exactly  what  she  might  have  expected  from  his  tact,  his  feeling,  his 
Btrong  steady  manhood.  Henceforth,  when  they  chanced  to  be  thrown 
together  and  alone — if  they  ever  were  again  to  be  alone — they  were  to 


“ THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE: 


1S7 

bo  strictly  formal  and  conventional.  They  were  to  be — like  any  other 
two.  If  the  unspoken  words  of  the  lower  terrace  were  not  to  he  for- 
gotten— if  they  could  not  he  forgotten — yet  they  must  be  remem beied 
only  as  unspoken ; as  never  to  be  spoken.  Thus,  and  not  otherwise, 
could  all  be  redeemed  and  the  past  pass  without  leaving  taste  of  bitter- 
ness or  tinge  of  shame  behind  it.  She  felt  grateful  to  him  ; grate fui 
once  more.  But,  of  course,  she  knew  it.  would  be  so;  she  knew 
that  he  would  feel  as  she  felt.  She  answered  in  a quiet,  steady 
voice — 

“ But  you  would  have  to  leave  this  place  very  soon,  in  any  case,  fur 
the  election  campaign,  would  you  not  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes;  I shall  have  two  constituencies  on  my  hands,  you  know. 
I think  I shall  be  beaten  in  one ; but  the  other  is  my  old  place,  and  I 
am  pretty  safe  there.  I am  going  to  town  to  meet  my  wife.  She  i3 
only  passing  through;  coming  from  Homburg,  and  going  on  to  some 
place  in  the  country.  I don’t  quite  know  all  her  plans  as  yet.” 

“ I hope  you  will  be  successful  in  your  more  difficult  contest,”  Koo- 
ntli  said. 

“ Thank  you,  Mrs.  Kenway ; you  are  very  kind.  Except  for  the 
political  advantage  of  making  the  fight  and  carrying  the  seat,  if  I can, 
I would  rather  stick  to  my  own  old  constituency.  But  we  must  make 
the  fight.” 

“ Then  I hope  you  will  win.” 

M Thanks,  very  much.  I shall  do  my  best.” 

Then  it  was  announced  that  the  phaeton  was  ready  to  take  Morse 
to  the  station.  One  or  two  of  the  other  guests  were  going  somewhere 
by  the  train  as  well. 

“ Good-bye,  Mrs.  Kenway Morse  said,  raising  his  hat. 

“ Good-bye,  Mr.  Morse.  I hope  you  will  have  a pleasant  journey  to 
London,  and  that  you  will  find  Lady  Betty  quite  well.”  And  then, 
after  a second’s  pause,  Koorali  bravely  added,  “ My — love — to  Lady 
Betty,  please.” 

“ Certainly;  she  is  sure  to  ask  me  about  you.  Good-bye.” 

They  shook  hands  in  the  conventional  way.  No  faintest  pressure 
told  of  feelings  existing  bnt  kept  down.  The  new  rule  of  life  had 
become  an  unwritten  law  for  both  of  them.  Koorali  looked  along  the 
path  for  a moment  as  Morse  w^ent  his  way,  and  many  strange  thoughts 
and  memories  passed  in  confusion  across  her  mind.  All  was  over  now 
but  the  dying.  The  struggle  was  at  an  end.  The  curtain  of  tragedy 
had  fallen ; the  farce  of  the  formal  and  the  conventional  had  yet  to  be 
played.  The  life  of  cold  restriction  and  mere  self-denial  had  begun. 
Such,  she  felt,  was  the  only  life  left  for  her  to  live  any  more. 

She  saw  him  cross  the  lawn  to  say  good-bye  to  Zen  and  the  tennis- 
players.  She  heard  the  laughter  and  the  parting  withes  that  he  might 
have  a successful  electoral  campaign.  She  saw  her  husband  throw 
down  his  racket  and  go  with  Morse  to  the  phaeton,  and  she  saw  him 
bend  towaids  Morse  while  he  talked  in  an  eager,  confidential  manner, 
with  his  watchful  eyes  upon  Morse’s  face,  which  was  cast  down  nod 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.1 


i38 

moody.  She  could  almost  fancy  she  heard  Crichton's  good  wishes 
uttered  in  that  frank  tone  that  covered  so  much. 

The  phaeton  drove  away.  It  was  all  over,  and  death  was  in  her 
heart.  She  had  never  realized  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  till  now — 
the  death  of  love  which  had  not  been  allowed  to  live.  She  went  back 
to  the  rose  garden  and  stood  among  the  blossoms  and  the  buds,  so 
many  of  which  would  be  nipped  before  they  came  to  bloom.  Some 
one  had  been  watching  her  with  sympathy  in  his  eyes.  It  was  Lord 
Arden.  He  longed  to  show  her  that  she  had  a friend  who  understood 
her  and  felt  for  her,  but  he  could  hardly  venture  to  thrust  himself  upon 
her  then. 

There  was  a call  from  the  tennis-players  for  Mrs.  Crichton  Kenway, 
and  Zen  was  running  forward,  but  Arden  interposed. 

“No,  no,  Mrs.  Eustace.  Let  me  find  your  sister-in-law  for  you. 
But  I feel  perfectly  certain  she  won’t  join  in.”  He  went  towards  Koo- 
rMi.  “Mrs.  Kenway,  they  want  you  to  play  tennis;  and  you  don’t 
want  to,  I am  sure.” 

“ Oh  no.”  . Kooiali  started  at  his  voice,  and  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
were  awakening  from  a dream. 

He  saw  that  her  eyes  were  bright  with  unshed  tears.  “ Then  let  us 
take  a little  turn  instead.” 

They  strolled  away  past  the  rose  garden  and  beyond  the  big  clump 
of  yews  to  a walk  in  the  shrubbery.  She  shrank  from  the  lower 
terrace  towards  which  he  made  a movement,  and  he  noticed  this  and 
remembered — he  hardly  knew  why — that  she  had  been  walking  there 
with  Morse  yesterday. 

The  path  they  had  chosen  led  down  to  the  river.  They  talked  on 
indifferent  subjects  for  a little  while.  Koorali’s  remarks  were  con- 
strained and  absent.  Suddenly  Arden  said,  on  an  impulse  of  the 
moment — 

“ Mrs.  Kenway,  I’m  sure  you  haven’t  been  quite  well  lately,  or  you 
are  a little  worried  about  something.  Don’t  think  me  impertinent — 
and  I don’t  suppose  I ever  could  do  auything  really  in  the  way  of 
advising  or  helping  you;  but  I do  want  you  to  know  that  if  I could, 
and  you’d  let  me,  it  would  be  just  the  greatest  happiness  I could 
have.” 

A bright  flush  rose  to  KoorMi’s  pale  cheeks.  She  turned  her  eyes 
to  his  with  an  almost  childlike  expression  of  mingled  gratitude  and 
embarrassment.  She  was  too  truthful  to  deny  that  there  was  anything 
amiss  with  her,  though  she  winced  under  the  suggestion;  and  she 
liked  Lord  Arden  too  sincerely  to  resent  his  solicitude. 

“No,  there’s  no  way  in  which  you  can  help  me,  Lord  Arden;  but 
thank  you  all  the  same.  It  is  kind  of  you  to  think  about  me.” 

“ At  any  rate,”  he  said  more  earnestly,  “ you  know  that  I mean  it ; 
and  I think  there  might  come  to  be  a way  some  time  or  other.  Some- 
how there  generally  does  come  to  be  a way,  I think,  in  which  a true 
triend  can  give  one  help.  You’ll  let  me  call  myself  your  true  friend, 
Mrs.  Kenway?” 


“THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE .J 


189 


“Oh  yes,  indeed;  I am  glad,”  she  answered  warmly. 

“ It’s  what  I am — nothing  more  nor  less — whether  you  will  have  it 
or  not.  And  so,  now  you  know— as  the  children  say,”  he  added,  with 
a little  laugh  which  concealed  some  emotion. 

“ I know  that  you  are  very  good,”  she  said,  and  her  voice  trembled. 
“ There’s  no  one  I’d  rather  trust  than  you,  and  I am  proud  to  have 
you  for  my  friend.  But  you’re  a little  mistaken — I mean  in  thinking 
that  I need  help  or  advice — or — anything  now.  My  way  is  quite 
straight.  I’ve  only  got  to  walk  in  it.” 

“ Promise  me,  anyhow,  that  if  you  ever  do  want  them  you’ll  give 
me  a chance,”  he  pleaded  with  almost  boyish  eagerness.  “ You  may 
safely  make  the  promise,  Mrs.  Kenway,  since  you  are  so  certain  the 
need  won’t  arise.” 

She  thought  a moment  or  two,  with  her  look  bent  on  the  ground. 
Then  she  raised  her  dark  truthful  eyes  to  his  face.  She  saw  great 
kindness,  true  interest,  and  perfect  sincerity  written  there. 

“I  never  had  a sister,”  he  said,  “and  you  are  just  the  woman  I’d 
like  to  have  for  my  sister.  Come,  won’t  you  give  me  the  promise?” 

“ Yes,  I will,”  she  said  simply ; “and  thank  you,  Lord  Arden.” 
There  was  a little  silence.  He  was  more  moved  than  he  cared  to 
show.  They  turned  homeward.  Presently  he  said — 

“ You  never  met  my  father,  did  you,  Mrs.  Ken  way  ? ” 

“ Lord  Forrest?  No.  But  he  never  goes  out,  does  he  ? ” 

“Almost  never.  He  is  an  invalid,  and  belongs  to  the  past  somehow. 
He  lives  among  books  and  pictures  and  bric-Abrac ; and  the  house  is 
dreary  and  seems  to  want  a woman  about  it.  He  has  a chivalrous 
sort  of  liking  for  just  a few  women — Lady  Betty  Morse  is  one  of 
them — and  they  go  to  see  him  now  arid  then ; he  very  rarely  goes  to 
any  of  them.  I think  you’d  like  him,  Mrs.  Kenway;  and  1 know 
he’d  be  deeply  interested  in  you,  and  that  you  would  be  doing  a kind- 
ness if  you’d  let  me  take  you  to  see  him  some  time  when  we  are  all  in 
London  again.” 

“ 1 will,  most  gladly,”  said  Koorali.  “ I have  heard  of  your  father  ; 
and  I lave  made  a picture  of  him  in  my  imagination,  and  it  will  be 
a great  pleasure  to  me  to  know  him.” 

Arden  knew  that  her  sweet  poetic  face,  her  sympathetic  intelli- 
gence, and  shy,  graceful  manner,  with  the  suggestion  it  gave  of  some- 
th ng  un-English,  would  delight  Lord  Forrest;  and  he  had  an  instinc- 
tive feeling  that  the  friendship  of  the  cultivated,  exclusive,  and 
chivalrous  old  Jacobite  nobleman  might  be  of  advantage  to  her  in  the 
somewhat  difficult  part  she  had  to  play  in  London  society. 


*THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE, 


£90 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

“ PURSUING  A PHANTOM.” 

Morse  went  that  evening  to  meet  his  wife  at  the  Charing  Cross 
station.  The  compartment  she  occupied  was  in  the  lower  end  of  the 
train,  and  it  was  she  who  came  first  towards  him,  instead  of  him  find- 
ing her.  As  she  walked  along  the  platform,  the  light  of  the  electric 
lamps  full  upon  her  slender  figure  wrapped  in  a long  furred  cloak,  and 
her  bright  small  face  unshaded  by  the  little  travelling  cap  she  wore,  a 
strange,  sudden  feeling,  not  unfamiliar,  rushed  over  him — a fancy  that 
he  was  somehow  in  the  presence  of  a ghost.  He  had  felt  this  upon 
his  first  meeting  with  Koorali  in  England.  He  felt  it  now,  when 
looking  at  his  wife.  It  was  as  though  some  association  connected 
with  the  two  women  brought  before  him  the  shade  of  his  once- 
cherished  ideal.  Which  was  the  ghost? — -which  the  reality?  Had  he 
found  his  ideal  in  Lady  Betty?  or  had  it  shone  upon  him  but  once 
long  ago  in  the  soft  brightness  of  an  Australian  dawn  ? 

Lady  Betty  was  looking  well,  notwithstanding  her  long  journey. 
She  had  a faint  colour,  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  She  was  glad  to  see  her 
husband,  and  showed  it  in  her  pretty,  half- emotional  way.  Morse  had 
sometimes  found  himself  wondering  a little  bitteity  whether,  under 
any  conceivable  circumstances,  Lady  Betty  would  be  capable  of  taking 
a tiight  beyond  the  circle  of  her  own  sweet  superficial  nature.  He 
could  not  imagine  her  rising  to  such  a height  of  passionate  feeling  as 
to  be  quite  forgetful  of  what  the  Court  might  say,  and  to  be  quite  insen- 
sible to  the  picturesque  and  the  becoming. 

Lady  Betty  put  her  arm  within  that  of  her  husband  in  the  most 
charmingly  appropriating  manner.  She  took  him  for  granted,  as  she 
took  for  granted  all  the  other  facts  in  her  pleasant  life.  It  was  not 
necessary  to  be  effusive.  “Oh,  Sand  ham,  how  nice  of  you  ! Pm  so 
tired,  dear.  We’ve  had  a horrid  crossing.  Let  us  get  into  the  carriage 
and  go  off.  John  can  find  Maling  and  see  about  the  luggage;  ” and 
she  gave  the  footman  standing  by  a gracious  little  nod. 

When  they  were  in  the  carriage  driving  homeward  Morse  kissed  his 
wife,  and  she  nestled  to  him  for  a moment,  and  said — 

‘How  nice  it  is  to  be  in  smoky  London  again!”  She  asked  one  or 
two  questions  about  home  affairs  and  about  the  whereabouts  of  such 
and  such  of  her  friends,  and  she  had  a great  deal  to  tell  about  Homburg 
gaieties  and  the  royal  wedding,  about  a rumoured  foreign  alliance 
and  a rumoured  foreign  appointment,  and  about  the  nice  things  which 
certain  great  personages  had  said  to  her.  And  then  she  heaved  a sigh 
and  was  silent. 

“ What  makes  you  sigh,  Betty?”  asked  Morse  tenderly. 

“Nothing,  dear.  I’ve  got  a lot  to  ask  you  about  by-and-by-^ 
political  news,  and  how  you  have  been  getting  on  with  your  canvass 
and  that.  1 was  only  thmking — it’s  odd  isn’t  it?  that  we  should  have 


“ PURSUING  A PHANTOM 191 

been  leading  such  different  lives — you  and  I,  and  that  you  should  be 
so  out  of  it,  in  all  that  has  been  interesting  me. 

“ Well,  dear,”  said  Morse,  with  a smile,  “if  I am  out  of  it  as  regards 
your  Royalties,  I think  from  the  nature  of  things  you’d  have  been  still 
more  out  of  your  element  among  my  working-men.” 

“I  think  i begin  to  hate  the  working-man,”  said  Lady  Betty,  with 
a shiver;  “especially  since  they  have  given  him  a vote.  I think  it  is 
horrible  for  us  to  have  to  truckle  to  the  lower  classes,  as  I suppose  we 
most  do  now  if  we  want  our  people  ro  get  in.” 

They  had  reached  home.  Later,  Lady  Betty  having  exchanged  her 
travelling  dress  for  a tea-gown  of  rich  coloured  Oriental  stuff,  in  which 
she  looked  very  young  and  very  pretty,  and  more  than  ever  like  some 
bright  tropical  bird,  was  sitting  with  Morse  over  the  fire  in  her  own 
boudoir.  Almost  all  the  other  sitting-rooms  were  covered  up  with 
brown  hoi  land,  for  the  house  had  been  given  over  to  work-people,  and 
Lady  Betty  was  only  going  to  be  a few  days  in  London  before  setting 
off  on  a round  of  visits  to  great  country  houses.  She  was  a little  vexed 
at  finding  that  she  would  have  to  make  most  of  the.se  visits  alone. 
Morse  had  decided  a short  while  before  to  contest  a Tory  stronghold 
in  the  south  of  England,  keeping  his  own  constituency,  where  he 
might  consider  himself  safe,  in  reserve,  and  there  were  political  meetings 
to  be  held,  and  preparations  to  be  made  for  the  battle.  This  he  had 
been  explaining  to  her. 

“I  thought  you’d  have  got  some  of  that  done  before  I came  back, 
dear,”  said  Lady  Bi  tty,  with  a gesture  of  reproach.  “I’m  afraid  that 
you’ve  been  neglecting  your  duties  just  lately.  But  I suppose  the 
duke’s  shooting  party  was  a temptation.  Was  that  where  my  telegram 
found  you,  Sandham?” 

“ 1 did  not  go  to  the  duke’s  party,”  replied  Morse,  speaking 
deliberately.  “ I went  to  Bromswold,  and  I have  spent  the  la>t  two 
days  at  the  Priory-on- the- Water.  That  was  where  your  telegram 
found  me.” 

Lady  Betty  looked  surprised.  “The  Priory- on -the- Water ?”  she 
repeated.  “Ob,  I know;  the  place  that  strange  Mrs.  Eustace  Ken  way 
insisted  on  scraping.  Wasn’t  it  odd  for  you  to  go  there,  Sandham  ? 
What  was  the  attraction?  Not  Mrs.  Eustace.  I suppose  it  was  the 
fair  K001  ali  ? ” 

Lady  Betty’s  light  words  made  Morse  wince  with  a faint  sense  of 
guilt ; they  hurt  him.  But  his  face  was  quite  impassive  as  he  answered 
quietly,  “ I was  very  glad  to  have  the  chance  of  meeting  Mrs.  Crichton 
Kenway.  That’s  quite  true,  Betty.  I looked  upon  myself  as  a sort  of 
English  godfather  to  her.” 

“Oh,  my  dear,  all  London  knows  how  much  you  admired  the 
Australian  beauty.  By  the  way,  Sandham,  people  seem  to  be  getting 
a little  tired  of  her.  She  is  rather  stupid,  don’t  you  think?  It  was 
only  her  being  new  that  made  her  take.  It  was  something  quite  new, 
indeed,  to  see  you  in  the  character  of  a woman’s  admirer,  Sandham. 
I rather  liked  it,  do  you  know?  It  made  you  more  like  other  peopla 


192 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


I wasn’t  the  least  wee  bit  jealous.  I was  quite  proud  of  having  brought 
her  out;  and  didn’t  I make  things  nice  for  her,  as  I promised?” 

“Yes,  Betty,”  he  said,  rising  as  he  spoke,  and  looking  down  upon 
her  with  deep  eyes.  “ And  I thank  you,  my  dear,  for  your  trust  in  me.” 

Something  in  his  vcice  made  Lady  Betty  glance  up  at  him  quickly. 
“ Sandham,”  she  exclaimed,  “you  are  not  looking  as  well  as  you  did 
when  I left.  You  seem  to  me  to  have  aged.” 

“That’s  natural  enough,”  said  Morse,  with  an  effort  at  lightness. 
“At  my  time  ot  life,  child,  a few  weeks  of  hard  work  and  worry  will 
make  the  difference  of  as  many  years,  where  grey  hairs  and  wrinkles 
are  in  question.  I am  quite  well,  hut  I shall  probably  look  older  still 
before  the  elections  are  over.” 

“ Oh  1 the  elections ! ” cried  Lady  Betty  mournfully.  “ I detest 
politics  now.  I feel  uncomfortable  whenever  they’re  mentioned.  And 
yet  I used  to  be  so  interested  in  them.  Of  course,  everybody  belong- 
ing to  me  was  in  Parliament  or  mixed  up  with  it  all,  and  it  seemed  so 

natural  when  I married  that  my  husband  should  be  a politician ” 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  sighed. 

“Go  on,  Betty,”  said  Morse.  “Why  do  you  detest  politics  now, 
and  why  does  it  seem  less  natural  that  your  husband  should  be  a 
politician  ? ” 

Ladv  Betty  hesitated  a moment.  “Yes,  but  a polit’cian  whom  all 
my  people  and  my  friends  think  so  mistaken,  don’t  you  know;  whose 
views  are  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  those  of  my  own  class.  Oh, 
Sandham,  I didn’t  want  to  say  disagreeable  things  or  tell  you  how 
troubled  I have  been, — just  the  fir>t  evening.” 

Morse  stooped  and  put  his  hand  for  a moment  on  the  little  dark  head. 
“ There  you  are  wrong,  Betty,”  he  said.  “If  there  are  disagreeable 
things  to  be  talked  over,  it’s  much  best  not  to  sleep  on  them.  Political 
disagreeables  can’t  matter  much  anyhow;  and  if  anyone  has  been 
troubling  you,  your  husband  has  a right  to  know  it  at  once.  Speak 
out,  dear.” 

But  Lady  Betty  did  not  seem  inclined  to  say  at  once  what  was  in 
her  mind.  She  took  up  a feather  screen,  and  held  it  between  her  face 
and  the  fire,  while  she  seemed  to  be  looking  through  it,  so  fixed  was 
her  melancholy  gaze. 

“I  wish  it  was  not  the  fashion  for  women  to  canvass,”  she  said; 
“ they’re  all  doing  it  now.  I hope  you  won’t  want  me  to  go  down  with 
you  to  Clayhridge  when  the  time  comes,  Sandham.”  She  turned  her 
face  up  to  him  now,  and  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  “ I couldn’t.  I think 
it’s  horrid  for  a wife  not  to  uphold  her  husband,  and  I admire  the 
w<  men  who  do  it.  But  I can’t  go  to  Clayhridge.” 

Morse  laughed  a little  discordantly.  “You  speak,  Betty,  as  if  I 
were  a criminal  who  wanted  3rou  to  stand  beside  him  in  the  dock.  I 
wonder  if  you  would  stand  by  me — so?  I shan’t  put  you  to  that  test, 
however,  child.” 

“Oh,  Sandham!”  murmured  Lady  Betty. 

“Or  to  the  platform  test  either,”  he  went  on.  “You  don’t  think 


PURSUING  A phantom: 


193 


really  that  I could  wish  you  to  sully  your  delicate  bloom  by  coaxing 
votes  out  of  unwilling  Tories?  Oh  no,  Betty,  my  wife  should  be  too 
loving  and  tender  and  poetic  for  that  sort  of  thing.  That  is  not  my 
idea  of  a politician’s  helpmate.  I don’t  care  for  canvassing  women 
any  more  than  for  speech-making  women.  There  used  to  be  a proverb 
in  my  part  of  the  country  about  a whistling  woman  and  a crowing  hen. 
No ; you  need  not  canvass  for  me,  and  if  this  is  all  that  troubles  you, 
set  your  mind  at  rest.” 

“It  is  not  all,  Sandham,”  said  Lady  Betty.  She  looked  at  him 
again,  as  he  stood  over  her  with  the  dark  expression  on  his  face.  An 
ungenerous  thought,  a sort  of  hope,  shot  through  her  mind.  Might 
he  not  be  one  of  those  who,  as  it  is  phrased,  ran  with  the  hare  and 
hunted  with  the  hounds?  In  spite  of  his  democratic  principles,  his 
professed  disinterestedness,  he  had  married  Lord  Germilion’s  daughter, 
and  this  marriage  hid  in  a great  measure  opened  out  his  career.  It 
was  quite  conceivable  that  he  should  not  wish  his  wife  to  be  too 
completely  identified  with  his  political  schemes.  Was  not  she  the 
contradiction  to  that  horrible  imputation  of  league  with  socialists  and 
revolutionists  which  she  had  vaguely  heard  cast  against  him  ? A 
moment  later  she  was  ashamed  of  having  harboured  for  an  instant  the 
passing  thought.  Morse  had  seated  himself  beside  her,  and  his  face 
was  dark  no  longer. 

“Come,  tell  me,  Betty,  what  is  the  matter?”  he  asked  tenderly  and 
with  genuine  anxiety.  He  looked  into  her  eyes,  which  were  wistful 
and  sad,  and  he  felt  very  affectionate  to  her,  and  not  a little  penitent. 
His  thoughts  reverted  to  the  trust  she  expressed  in  him  a few  moments 
ago.  If  faith  were  rooted  there,  what  matter  all  other  unfaiih?  He 
was  fond  of  her — very  fond  ; and  if  the  idea  had  been  pressing  harshly 
upon  him  of  late  that  she  was  not  quite  so  much  the  companion  of  his 
heart  and  of  his  thoughts  as  his  wife  ought  to  be,  he  could  not  but  own 
to  himself  that  there  was  a certain  lack  of  loyalty  in  the  admission, 
even  in  the  very  perception,  of  such  a reality. 

Lady  Betty  seemed  to  become  more  herself  again.  She  turned  to 
him  with  a half-questioning,  half-deprecating  air. 

“Sandham,  my  dear,  I have  been  hearing  such  things!  I do  wish 
you  would  tell  me  they  are  not  true,  and  let  me  say  so  to  my  father 
and  every  one.” 

“What  are  these  dreadful  things,  Betty?” 

“You  are  not  anti-English,  Sandham ? You  don’t  want  England 
humbled  before  foreign  states,  enemies,  and  all  that?  You  don’t  hate 
the  Court  and  the  princes  and  princesses?  You  are  not  a republican; 
not  one  of  those  horrible  communists?  Not  really,  Sandham — I mean 
really?  ” 

“Who  has  been  saying  all  this?”  Morse’s  brow  darkened  again. 
He  was  wounded  by  the  idea  of  his  wife  coming  to  him  with  her  head 
full  of  things  that  had  been  said  against  him — in  her  own  presence  it 
would  seem. 

Lady  Betty  furled  and  unfurled  her  screen.  “Well,  they  were  not 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


194 

all  told  to  me — not  directly.  There  were  a lot  of  the  political  set  at 
Horn  burg ; and  of  course  I read  the  papers,  and  your  speeches,  and 
what  is  thought  of  them.  And  peopled  talked.  It  was  half  c>  aff. 
But  papa  hears  of  things  seriously,  don’t  you  know;  and  he  has  been 
telling  me  what  his  friends  say.  He  was  very  much  troubled,  but  I 
told  him  I was  sure  there  was  not  a word  of  truth  in  the  whole  of  it. 
Aud  then  he  says  that  you  are  a republican,  and  that  you  don’t  want 
England  to  fight.” 

“ Well,  Betty,”  Morse  said,  with  a melancholy  sort  of  smile,  “I  don’t 
know  that  I can  quite  authorize  you  to  contradict  your  father.  I am 
a republican  on  principle,  or  in  theory,  if  you  like;  and  I don’t  want 
England  to  go  to  war  just  now  and  in  such  a cause.  Is  that  all  ?” 
“But  you  are  not  a peace-at-any-price  man?  Dear  Sandham,  you 
are  not  that?  Why,  think  of  all  one’s  relatives  and  friends  in  the 
army  and  the  navy  ; and  the  princes,  soldiers  and  sailors.  You  couldn’t 
be  that.  Papa  says  no  gentleman  could  be  for  peace  at  any  price.” 

“I  am  not  for  peace  at  any  price,  Betty.  There  are  many  things  I 
would  go  to  war  for.  My  dear,  you  have  forgotten  the  heroic  adventures 
of  my  early  days,  I am  afraid,  although  you  used  to  say  they  were  ever 
so  interesting.  I fought  in  a war  myself  once.” 

“Yes;  long  ago,  when  you  were  young,”  Lady  Betty  said  despond- 
ingly.  “ But  you  are  not  for  peace  at  any  price — that  you  do  say, 
Sandham  ? I may  tell  papa  and  every  one  that,  mayn’t  I?” 

“I  don’t  fancy  Lord  Germilion  needs  to  be  told  that,”  Morse  said 
rather  coldly.  “In  England,  if  we  don’t  like  a public  man,  we  merely 
say  he  is  for  peace  at  any  price,  and  think  we  have  disposed  of  him. 
I don’t  fancy  Lord  Germilion  and  his  friends  really  believe  it  of  me.” 
“But,”  exclaimed  Lady  Betiy  eagerly,  “ they  say  if  you  become 
Prime  Minister  you  will  not  let  England  go  to  war.” 

“Whether  I become  Prime  Minister  or  not,  Betty,  I will  always 
do  my  best  to  prevent  England  from  going  to  war  when  war  is  not 
necessary  or  justifiable.  I shall  do  my  best  to  prevent  this  war,  dear.” 
“Then  you  are  against  the  Court,”  Lady  Betty  said,  the  colour 
dying  out  of  her  cheeks  at  the  bare  idea. 

Morse  patted  her  cheek  soothingly.  He  was  determined  that  he 
would  be  very  gentle  with  her.  “My  dear  Betty,  you  don’t  know 
what  a dreadful  thing  you  are  saying.  What  do  you  think  would  be 
the  outcry  among  the  people  if  it  were  supposed  that  to  have  a strong 
opinion  against  a particular  policy,  especially  against  a war  policy, 
were  to  prove  that  a public  man  was  against  the  Court?  Talk  of 
republicanism — why,  my  little  wife,  your  doctrines,  if  they  were  correct, 
would  make  republicans  of  three-fourths  of  the  English  people.” 

“ I don’t  understand  you  one  bit,”  Lady  Betty  answered  ; and  indeed 
she  answered  truly.  “But  are  you  really  a republican ? and  do  you 
want  to  get  up  a republican  party?  And  are  you  going  in  with  that 
unfortunate  Masterson  and  men  like  that?” 

“ Why,  Betty,  I am  exactly  as  I have  always  been  since  you  knew 
me,  and  for  long  before.  I have  lived  in  republics  and  in  communities 


“ PURSUING  A PHANTOM?  195 

which  are  really  republican,  and  life  goes  on  there  very  well.  I always 
told  you  my  ideas  were  republican.’" 

“ Yes  ; but  one’s  ideas — that  is  nothing.  I never  thought  you  meant 
anything  real  in  all  that.  1 thought  it  looked  odd  and  pretty  and 
picturesque,  and  I liked  it.  But  I never  thought  you  really  meant  it, 
Sandham — never,  oh,  never  ! If  I had ” She  stopped  abruptly. 

“If  you  had,  you  wouldn’t  have  married  me?  Is  that  what  you 
mean  ? ” he  a>ke(l. 

She  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  played  with  her  screen  for  a moment 
or  two.  “ Sandham,”  she  exclaimed  impulsively,  “ you  are  not  quite 
as  nice  to  me  as  you  used  to  be.  You  are  so  much  graver  and  colder, 
and  not  so  comfortable.  1 don’t  know  why  it  is,  but  things  seem  to 
have  changed  between  us  somehow.  We  don’t  think  alike,  as  we 
always  used.” 

“Used  we  to  think  alike  always?”  he  said,  more  to  himself  than 
to  her. 

“And  other  people  notice  it,”  Lady  Betty  continued  in  her  light 
pretty  way,  stroking  the  feathers  of  her  screen  in  a preoccupitd 
manner,  as  though  she'were  stating  a not  very  important  fact.  “ Lenny 
said  so  to  me  not  long  ago.” 

“Lenny!”  repeated  Morse  in  a stern,  astonished  tone.  “You 
talked  to  the  boy  Lenny  about  yourself  and  me?” 

Lady  Betty  laughed  a little  uneasily.  “Well,  not  seriously,  dear. 
But  you  know  Lenny  has  always  had' a notion  that  he  would  like  to 
go  into  diplomacy — be  secretary  to  some  great  public  man  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind ; and  he  wanted  me  to  ask  yon,  and  so  that  was  how 
the  subject  came  up.  You  needn’t  be  vexed,  Sandham.  I fancy  that 
you  are  a little  impatient  of  Lenny.  You  don’t  always  take  an  interest 
in  my  toys.” 

“You  have  a great  many,  Betty.  Lad 3^  Deveril  and  ‘copy’  one 
month,  women  doctors  another,  studios  and  painters  a third,  Irish 

distress,  American  prima  donnas,  and ” he  was  going  to  say, 

“ Australian  beauties,”  thinking  of  that  daughter  of  Sir  Vesey  Plympton 
whom  Lady  Betty  had  “ run,”  but  stopped  short  for  an  instant,  and 
added  “mediaeval  page-boys,  and  so  forth.  I admit  that  your  toys  are 
harmless,  Betty,  and  you  soon  tire  of  them,  so  it  does  not  matter, 
dear.” 

“Now  you  are  sarcastic  and  uncomfortable,”  cried  Lady  Betty, 
“and  I don’t  know  what  to  make  of  you.”  She  seemed  to  be  mediat- 
ing for  a moment,  and  then  said,  “1  think  you  are  not  quite  just  to 
me,  Sandham.  I should  never  tire  of  anything  or  anybody  if  only 
there  did  not  always  come  a point  in  everything  when  more  is  expected 
from  one  than  human  nature — my  nature,  at  any  rate — can  give.” 

He  looked  at  her  with  a straage  sort  of  wonder,  an  almost  com- 
passionate interest,  and  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  checked  himself. 

“For  instance,”  Lady  Betty  went  on,  “ you  will  say  that  I have 
tired  of  Lenny  because  I don’t  mean  to  have  him  so  much  about  me  in 
future.  It  isn’t  so  in  the  least.  I love  the  dear  picturesque  boy,  and 


196  “THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .” 

I’d  do  anything  for  him,  and  shall  miss  him  horribly — Lenny  always 
made  a diversion  when  anything  awkward  happened.  But  he  wouldn’t 
remember  that  he  was  only  just  my  pretty  page.  He  got  silly  and 

sentimental  and  serious,  and  so ” She  gave  her  shoulders  a little 

shrug,  and  her  dark  eyes  glanced  up  pathetically  into  her  husband’s 
grave  face. 

“ And  so/’  he  repeated,  with  a melancholy  smile.  “ Yes,  I under* 
stand,  Bett}^.  You  don’t  like  things  and  people  when  they  become 
serious.  My  political  ideas  interested  you  as  long  as  you  thought 
them  only  a picturesque  background  to  the  man  you  married  ; but 
now  that  you  find  you  have  married  the  background  as  well  as  the 
man  you  are  perplexed  and  frightened,  my  dear.  Well,  I am  sorry — 
sorry  that  you  should  have  been  mistaken  in  me,  sorry  it  I should 
have  led  you  into  any  mistake.  But  you  were  mistaken.  I always 
gave  you  my  real  opinions;  I always  meant  what  I said.” 

Lady  Betty’s  cheeks  grew  pale  again.  She  had  wandered  a little 
away  from  the  real  trouble.  “ But,  Sandham,  will  you  explain  to  me  ” 
— she  bent  eageily  forward — “ I should  like  to  be  able  to  say  something 
when  people  tell  me  disagreeable  things/’ 

“ I will  try  to  exj  Jain,”  he  answered. 

“ Do  you  really  want  to  set  up  a republic  in  England  and  to  upset 
the  throne?  ” she  asked,  with  checks  still  more  blanched  than  before. 
Her  idea  of  a republic  was  either  a very  low-class  and  vulgar  place, 
where  one’s  coachman  sat  down  to  dinner  with  one,  or  a place  where 
furies  of  women  danced  half-naked  about  the  streets,  bearing  gory 
heads  on  the  points  of  pikes. 

“ No,  Betty,”  Morse  said,  with  a look  of  mingled  compassion  and  pain, 
“ 1 don’t  want  to  do  any  tiling  of  the  kind.  The  English  people  seem 
to  me  well  content  as  they  are,  and  I would  not  put  out  a hand  to 
disturb  them  for  the  sake  of  the  finest  theory  that  ever  was  breached. 
You  may  tell  Lord  Germilion  that  if  you  like;  but  I don’t  suppose  he 
will  believe  it.” 

“But  if  one  is  a republican  one  wants  to  have  a republic,”  Lady 
Betty  urged,  with  a certain  amount  of  plaintive  shrewdness. 

“ In  consistency  one  ought  to,  1 suppose;  but  life  is  all  more  or  less 
a compromise,  Betty — in  politics,  at  any  rate.  I should  be  glad  if  the 
English  people  some  day,  at  some  suitable  opportunity,  were  willing 
to  try  a republic;  but  I don’t  want  to  try  to  force  a republic  on 
them.” 

“At  some  suitable  opportunity!”  Lady  Betty  exclaimed  aghast. 
“ Does  that  mean  at  the  end  of  the  reign  ? Stopping  the  succession  ? 
Why,  that  is  the  very  thing  they  were  saying  at  papa’s.  They  were 
saying  that  some  people — Mr.  Masterson  at  their  head — were  t lying 
to  get  up  a plot  of  the  kind — paving  the  way  for  a rebellion,  and  that 
— oh,  Sandham,  my  dear,  they  were  saying  that  it  was  encouraged  by 
— by ” 

“ By  me,  Betty  ? ” Morse  interrupted  almost  sternly.  “ They  have 
said  that  of  me,  have  they  ? ” 


PURSUING  A phantom: 


1 97 


“Not  in  my  hearing,”  Lady  Betty  answered,  a little  frightened  by 
his  look  and  his  voice.  “Of  course  I would  not  listen  to  anything  of 
the  kind.  Papa  told  me  they  were  saying  it.  But,  of  course,  it  is 
not  true.” 

“ I)o  you  think  it  is  true,  Betty?” 

“ My  dear  Sandham,  no  ; oh  no ! But,  then,  I never  thought  that 
you  were  really  in  earnest  about  being  a republican,  and  all  that.” 

“ Exactly,”  Morse  said  grimly ; “ and  as  you  were  mistaken  in 
the  one  case  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  mistaken  in 
the  other.  I quite  understand.  Well,  we  have  talked  this  over 
enough,  I think.  Never  mind  me,  Betty  ; I mean,  don’t  trouble  about 
defending  me.  If  they  ask  you  whether  it  is  true  that  I am  concerned 
in  a plot  to  assassinate  the  royal  family  and  the  bench  of  bishops,  you 
can  only  say  that  you  don’t  know,  dear ; that  you  really  don’t  know. 
For  you  don’t,  you  see.  Then  you  will  be  quite  on  the  safe  side,  and 
you  will  have  committed  yourself  to  nothing.” 

There  was  a tone  of  scorn  in  his  voice  which  he  could  not  quite 
repress.  But  he  looked  at  the  little  wistful  face  with  the  pure, 
frightened,  anxious  eyes,  and  an  unspeakable  feeling  of  pity  welled  up 
in  his  heart.  She  did  not,  then,  understand  him ; she  could  not 
understand  him  at  all — this  bright  humming-bird  of  society,  this 
child-like  woman  of  the  world,  gracious,  graceful,  sweet,  and  yet  so 
incapable  of  sympathy  with  his  own  highest  aspirations,  his  own 
deepest  emotions.  At  the  instant,  Koorali’ s phrase,  “ I do  not  speak 
the  language,”  flashed  through  his  mind.  There  was  a language,  too, 
which  Lady  Betty  could  not  speak — the  language  Koorali  knew 
so  well. 

It  was  very  sad  ; but  there  was  the  truth,  the  unpitying,  remorseless 
truth.  He  bent  to  kiss  her  out  of  very  sorrow  for  her  and  for  himself. 
As  he  looked  into  her  eyes  he  could  not  help  thinking  h >w  curiously 
like  Koorali  she  was;  and  then  the  strange  thought  thrust  itself  into 
his  mind  that  she  was  Koorali  without  a soul.  Sometimes,  in  after- 
days, it  seemed  to  him  possible  that  he  might  have  been  drawn 
towards  Lady  Betty  in  the  first  instance  by  some  vague  perception  of 
her  likeness  to  the  girl  he  had  seen  in  the  Australian  dawn.  Perhaps 
he  had  been  all  unconsciously  seeking  his  lost  ideal,  pursuing  his 
distant  dream,  when  he  was  paying  court  to  the  brilliant  young 
Englishwoman  who  afterwards  became  his  wife  ; and  now  he  finds 
that  she  is  not  his  ideal  after  all.  In  one  of  the  stories  of  the  forest 
Indians  he  had  heard  of  a youth  who  passed  his  life  in  the  pursuit  of 
a phantom  woman,  always  moving  before  him,  never  reached.  Had 
he  too  been  thus  pursuing  a phantom  ? 

She  could  not  understand  him  ; she  had  never  understood  him — his 
wife  1 There  was  no  help  for  that.  He  was  cut  to  the  heart,  but  he 
did  not  blame  her;  he  only  felt  compassion  for  her.  He  kissed  her 
on  the  forehead,  and  then  left  her.  They  parted  not  in  anger,  but  in 
coldness.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  ever  parted  in  real  coldness. 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


19S 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PINK  SNOW. 

A pink  snow  of  telegrams  was  shedding  itself  softly  all  over  England. 
The  needles  of  the  telegraph  were  clicking  and  pattering  like  an 
incessant  shower  of  sleet  and  hail.  It  was  the  middle  of  November, 
and  the  general  elections  were  going  on  ; and  the  pink  shower  was  one 
of  their  necessary  accompaniments.  In  the  clubs,  men  were  rushing 
eagerly  up  to  every  fresh  strip  of  paper  affixed  to  the  walls  of  morning- 
rooms  and  corridors.  The  evening  journals  kept  issuing  new  editions 
every  hall-hour.  Congratulations  and  condolences  were  crossing  each 
other;  wild  appeals  for  advice,  for  assistance,  for  the  hurrying-up  of 
voters,  for  demonstration  of  direct  or  indirect  influence  this,  that,  and 
the  other  way,  were  flying  up  from  the  boroughs  and  the  counties  to 
the  political  head-quarters  of  the  various  parties  in  London. 

It  was  a time  of  merely  pleasing  excitement  for  those  who  had  no 
friend  or  brother  in  the  struggle  and  who  were  not  themselves 
involved.  But,  then,  a vast  number  of  persons  either  were  themselves 
involved  or  had  some  friend  or  brother  thus  situated.  The  political 
fortunes  of  men  were  being  decided  daily,  hourly.  The  success  of  a 
life’s  ambition,  the  sudden  check  to  a promising  career,  the  utter 
blight  of  hopes  on  which  ail  had  been  staked — these  were  the  events 
which  any  moment’s  message  might  announce  by  wire  or  telephone. 
Some  seven  hundred  vacant  seats  to  be  filled ; at  least  two  candidates 
for  almost  every  place  ; each  candidate  representing  an  eager  family 
and  a large  circle  of  friends,  all  of  whom  profess  to  wish  him  success, 
and  some  of  whom  think  it  absurd  of  him  to  want  to  get  into  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  hope  in  their  hearts  he  may  fail  of  his  desire; 
each  constituency  containing  so  many  ardent  politicians  and  furious 
partisans,  and  unscrupulous  wire-pullers,  and  poor-spirited  hangers-on 
pitifully  hunting  after  temporary  appointments  paid  at  so  much  a 
day  ; and  messengers  and  cab-drivers  and  bill-stickers — all  these,  and 
a whole  army  of  other  “ unnamed  demi-gods  ” — to  revive  a phrase  of 
Kossuth’s  eloquent  days — were  personally  interested  in  the  struggle. 

Nominally,  it  was  the  old  struggle  between  Liberals  and  Tories. 
Hut  there  was  a new  and  a different  issue  involved  this  time.  There 
were  two  sections  of  the  Liberal  party — the  old  Whigs  and  the  new 
Radicals  or  Democrats ; and  the  question  was  which  of  these  two 
sections  was  to  come  out  the  stronger  after  the  elections  and  give  laws 
to  the  other.  The  general  impression  was  that  the  Tories  would  be 
worsted  in  any  case.  But  that  was  not,  after  all,  so  important  a 
matter.  They  were  now  in  office  only  because  the  Liberals  did  not 
see  their  way  to  work  together  as  one  united  party.  If,  after  the 
elections,  the  same  want  of  union  should  perchance  prevail,  the  Tories 
would  have  to  be  allowed  to  remain  for  the  time  in  office,  even  though 
they  should  be  the  Ministry  of  a minority.  But  it  was  understood 


PINK  SNOW . 


199 


that  the  Liberals  would  among  themselves  abide  by  the  decision  of 
the  constituencies.  If  the  Whigs  should  come  out  the  stronger,  then 
the  Radicals  would  be  bound  on  their  own  principles  to  admit  that  the 
voice  of  the  people  was  the  voice  of  the  gods,  and  to  let  the  Whigs 
lead  them — for  the  time,  at  least.  If  the  decision  were  to  be  the 
other  way,  then  the  Whigs  would  have  to  do  once  more  what  they 
had  so  often  done  before,  and  consent  to  move  on  with  the  times  and. 
the  Radicals. 

Then,  again,  there  was  another  question — the  war  policy.  Would 
the  Radicals,  if  they  came  back  in  force,  go  for  a war  policy?  Would 
Morse  go  for  it?  He  was  denouncing  it  everywhere  now;  but  if  his 
party  came  back  powerful  enough  to  make  him  Prime  Minister,  would  he 
not  then  bend  to  the  will  of  the  country  and  go  in  for  a policy  of  war  ? 

These  were  the  questions  disturbing  the  minds  of  men — and  of 
women.  There  was  one  woman  who  watched  the  progress  of  events 
with  the  deepest  and  keenest  interest — an  interest  all  the  deeper  and 
the  keener  because  it  could  find  no  relief  in  expression.  Koorali  sat 
in  her  lonely  home,  and  waited  and  wondered  and  hoped,  like  a 
solitary  woman  who  listens  for  some  sound  to  tell  her  that  news  is 
coming  from  a battle-field  whereon  fortunes  dear  to  her  heart  are 
staked.  The  pink  shower  let  fall  no  flake  on  Koorali.  She  received 
no  letter  or  telegram  from  Morse.  She  did  not  expect  any  ; she  knew 
he  would  not  send  any.  She  knew  that  it  was  right  he  should  not 
send  any ; and  yet  she  watched  the  hours  anxiously.  She  wondered 
at  her  almost  absolute  isolation  in  the  midst  of  that  great  struggle; 
and  she  seemed  to  herself  useless ; and  life  was  drear. 

The  Crichton  Kenways  had  been  for  some  weeks  settled  in  London. 
Crichton  was  now  a gentleman  at  large,  for  his  successor  had  arrived 
from  South  Britain,  and  was  installed  at  the  office  in  Victoria  Street. 
Crichton  was  not  altogether  displeased  at  the  opportunity  given  him 
for  cultivating  his  country  tastes  and  pursuits.  He  was  gaining  quire 
a reputation  in  the  hunting-field,  and  had  contrived  to  afford  himself 
another  hunter.  He  had  had  several  invitations  for  partridge  and 
pheasant  shooting ; and  on  the  whole  he  was  very  well  occupied  and  a 
good  deal  away  from  home.  He  had  even  been  exercising  his  talents 
as  an  orator,  and  speaking  for  several  of  the  advanced  Liberal  candi- 
dates at  the  elections.  He  cursed  the  want  of  means  which  prevented 
him  from  standing  himself  for  a Lyndfordshire  constituency;  but  even 
in  this  respect  his  luck  had  favoured  him.  Old  Mrs.  Kenway  died 
just  after  the  visit  to  the  Priory  which  had  been  so  memorable  to 
Koorali,  and  the  modest  sum  in  ready  money  dropping  in,  as  Crichton 
expressed  it,  “ at  the  very  nick  of  time,”  relieved  him  for  the  moment 
from  his  most  pressing  difficulties.  The  relief  would  not,  he  knew,  be 
of  long  duration;  the  mountain  of  debt  was  still  rolling  up.  But  at 
at  ail  events  he  was  able  to  start  a fresh  account  at  his  tailor’s,  to 
throw  a sop  to  the  most  rapacious  of  his  Jewish  creditors,  and  to  pay 
off  his  overdraft  at  the  bauk  and  restore  confidence  to  the  heart  of  Mr. 
Bonhote,  the  manager. 


200 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


In  regard  to  Morse  and  Koorali,  and  the  bettering  of  his  own  pros- 
pects, Crichton  still  thought  it  good  policy  to  let  matters  slide,  or  seem 
to  do  so.  Koorali,  on  her  side,  was  true  to  her  principle  of  self-repres- 
sion ; and  since  that  night  at  the  Priory  her  relations  with  her  husband 
had  been  friendly  on  the  surface.  She  saw  so  much  less  of  him,  that 
it  was  comparatively  easy  to  keep  on  the  conventional  plane.  And 
then  the  elections  were  the  absorbing  subject  of  interest.  Nothing 
could  be  done  or  decided  about  their  future  till  the  country  had 
declared  for  or  against  the  Ministry  in  power;  for  or  against  Morse 
and  his  Kadicals.  Crichton  was  as  keenly  excited  over  the  political 
situation  as  a gambler  whose  fortune  depends  upon  the  turn  of  the 
wheel,  but  he  tried  to  make  his  excitement  appear  to  be  of  a patriotic 
and  purely  impersonal  kind.  He  began  to  fancy  himself  an  authority 
on  political  questions,  talked  as  if  he  were  behind  the  scenes;  and 
indeed,  with  the  egotism  which  was  his  habitual  happiness,  believed 
that  his  Lyndfordshire  speeches  and  an  article  he  wrote  about  this 
time  in  one  of  the  monthlies  would  aid  considerably  in  swaying  the 
destinies  of  England — it  might  almost  be  said,  of  Europe. 

He  had  proclaimed  himself  an  advanced  Liberal,  but  he  avoided  as 
much  as  possible  committing  himself  upon  the  war  question.  He  was 
anxious  that  there  might  still  be  a loophole  for  him,  should  the  Tory 
or  moderate  Liberal  interest  predominate.  He  read  every  word  uttered 
by  the  prominent  men  of  both  parties — or  rather  of  the  three  parties, 
for  Morse  and  his  “ Peaceful  Progressionists,”  as  they  were  sometimes 
called,  threatened  the  disintegration  of  the  Liberal  party. 

In  his  heart  of  hearts  Ken  way  did  not  quite  know  whether  he  wished 
Morse  to  succeed  or  not.  Unquestionably,  if  Morse  did  succeed  there 
would  be  a grand  chance  for  Kenway’s  bettered  fortunes.  But,  then, 
even  if  Morse  came  out  strong  after  the  elections,  might  he  not  throw 
his  opportunities  away  on  some  mad  scruple ; and,  then,  would  not 
Ken  way  be  “ altogether  out  of  it,”  to  use  his  own  phrase  ? Would  it 
not  be  better  if  he  had  “ gone  dead  ” with  the  more  moderate  Liberals 
from  the  first ; or,  indeed,  with  the  Tories  ? He  felt  angry  with  Morse 
sometimes,  as  if  Morse  had  talked  him  into  the  course  he  had  adopted. 
Moreover,  he  felt  bitterly  jealous  of  Morse,  simple  because  he  knew 
that  Koorali  thought  Morse  a hero,  and  regarded  him — her  husband — 
in  no  such  heroic  light.  Even  while  he  was  throwing  Koorali  in 
Morse’s  way,  he  hated  Morse  for  that  very  reason.  He  hated  Morse 
because  he  did  not  get  at  once  all  the  advantages  he  hoped  for  through 
Koorali’s  influence;  he  would  perhaps  have  hated  him  still  more  if  he 
had  got  them.  Had  he  been  a man  of  deeper  feeling  for  good  or  for 
ill,  life  would  have  been  intolerable  to  him.  But  an  indulgeut  Heaven 
had  endowed  him  with  a happy  levity  of  nature;  and  while  there  was 
a pleasant  country  house  open  to  him,  and  an  excellent  dinner  to  be 
had  now  and  then,  and  any  chance,  however  airy,  of  to-morrow  mend- 
ing the  luck  of  to-day,  Kenway  could  never  feel  quite  out  of  sorts  with 
the  world.  He  was,  in  one  regard,  the  very  opposite  to  poor  Enoch 
A.rden.  Enoch,  we  are  told,  “ was  not  all  unhappy ; his  resolve  sus* 


PINK  SNOW . 20T 

tained  him.”  Ken  way  was  not  all  unhappy ; his  lack  of  resolve 
sustained  him. 

Koorali  saw  almost  nothing  of  Morse  now,  heard  nothing  of  him, 
except  through  the  papers  and  through  Lady  Betty,  who  was  in 
London,  and  came  several  times  to  see  her.  There  was,  to  Koorali,  a 
mournful  interest  in  these  visits.  Morse’s  wife,  lovely,  sweet,  and 
unstable — fresh  from  some  aristocratic  drawing-room  where  Jingoism 
had  been  rampant  and  the  Ultra-Radicals  denounced  as  would-be 
destroyers  of  England’s  supremacy  and  enemies  of  the  sovereign — was 
a strange,  sad  study  to  Koorali.  Lady  Betty  talked  to  Koorali — an 
outsider  and,  to  her,  half  a foreigner — as  she  would  not  have  talked  to 
one  of  her  own  set;  and  she  allowed  this  to  be  apparent  in  a pretty, 
simple  way,  which  touched  the  Australian  woman. 

Lady  Betty  was  in  a curious,  half-elated,  half-distrustful  frame  of 
mind.  She  was  elated  at  the  extent  of  her  husband’s  influence  over 
the  nation,  alarmed  at  the  effect  it  might  have  upon  their  own  imme- 
diate surroundings.  Lady  Betty  was  entirely  conservative  in  tendency 
and  education,  and  had  never  felt  any  true  sympathy  with  her  hus- 
band’s aims — had  never  even  understood  what  they  were.  Till  now 
that  had  mattered  little.  There  had  been  no  need  for  husband  and 
wife  to  take  a definite  stand  together.  Lady  Betty  had  lived  on  the 
surface  of  society,  and,  in  a measure,  did  Morse  service  by  her  eclec- 
ticism. It  was  understood  that  in  Lady  Betty’s  drawing-room  all 
kinds  of  extremists  were  to  be  found  picturesquely  grouped  as  in  a 
sort  of  political  and  social  kaleidoscope.  Morse  had  fallen  into  a 
becoming  attitude,  and  till  the  break-up  of  the  Administration  to 
which  he  belonged,  Lady  Betty  had  never  felt  any  real  uneasiness 
as  to  his  political  career.  But  now  that  the  party  phrases  had  become 
battle-cries,  now  that  England  was  racked  to  its  very  centre  by  party 
strife,  now  that  Morse  had  steered  boldly  to  the  front,  taking  the  wind 
out  of  the  sails  of  other  leading  Radicals,  Lady  Betty  began  to  feel 
frightened  and  uncomfortable.  She  fancied  herself  less  popular  in  the 
Court  and  aristocratic  circles,  which  were  all  in  favour  of  war  and 
resentful  of  the  growth  of  a democratic  party.  Some  high  personages 
remonstrated  with  Lady  Betty  upon  her  husband’s  utterances.  She 
wished  him  to  be  a Prime  Minister,  but  she  did  not  wish  him  to  be  a 
Prime  Minister  notoriously  out  of  favour  at  Court.  Her  own  people 
were  bitterly  opposed  to  all  Morse’s  views ; Lord  Forrest,  the  only 
one  who  might  have  had  something  to  say  in  their  defence,  had  gone 
abroad,  openly  declaring  that  he  wanted  to  be  out  of  the  way  till  the 
hurly-burly  was  done.  Wherever  she  went,  Lady  Betty  h<  ard  of 
nothing  but  politics,  and  was  made  to  feel  herself  upon  the  wrong  side. 
It  was  quite  a new  experience  for  her,  and  not  a pleasant  one.  Then, 
somehow,  there  had  crept  about  rumours  of  an  alliance  between  Morse 
and  the  Socialists,  and  of  dark,  revolutionary  plans ; and  poor  Lady 
Betty,  knowing,  her  husband’s  friendship  with  Masterson,  had  qualms 
of  doubt  and  fear,  and  when  embarrassing  little  incidents  occurred 
could  not  laugh  them  off,  as  had  been  her  custom.  Nor  could  she  talk 
14 


202 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE; 


everything  over  frankly  with  Morse.  A curious  chill  hud  crept  up 
between  them,  and  she  had  a feeling  of  separateness  from  him  and  of 
inability  to  enter  into  his  mood.  He  was  not  less  gentle  and  con- 
siderate, not  less  affectionate — indeed,  sometimes  his  manner  had  a 
melancholy  tenderness  which  set  her  wondering  a little.  It  was  just 
a faint  indication  of  some  want  of  generosity  in  Lady  Betty’s  nature 
that  she  accepted  it  as  an  acknowledgment  of  wrong  to  her — of  course, 
she  thought,  it  was  a wrong  that  he  should  not  modify  his  attitude  a 
little  in  deference  to  her  opinions  and  associations  and  friends.  Lady 
Betty  was  not  sensitive  enough  to  be  alive  to  what  was  passing  through 
Morse’s  mind,  but  he  was  able  to  read  hers.  It  is  the  curse  of  firmly 
strung  natures,  that  an  impression  has  sometimes  the  determining 
strength  of  an  act  with  them,  and  that  they  cannot  close  mind  and 
eye  against  impressions.  To  paint  well,  it  is  said,  we  should  not  see 
too  well,  should  not  have  eyes  that  take  in  every  detail.  To  get  on 
well  in  life  one  should  be  mentally  shortsighted. 

“Dear  Mrs.  Ken  way,”  Lady  Betty  said  one  day  to  Koor&li,  “you 
ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  your  husband  is  not  a Radical — at 
least,  I suppose  he  is  one — but  not  too  advanced ; and,  then,  he  isn’t 
in  Parliament,  or  in  the  heart  of  things,  don’t  you  know.” 

“I  think  I should  be  very  thankful  and  very  proud  if  my  husband 
were  ‘in  the  heart  of  things’  here,  Lady  Betty,”  answered  Koorali, 
smiling  a little  sadly. 

“You  are  a republican — oh  yes,  I know” — said  Lady  Betty.  “I 
don’t  mind  it  at  all  in  you.  I think  you  used  to  encourage  my  hus- 
band a little  in  his  notions,  and  I’ve  heard  you  agree  with  the  American 
Minister  that  monarchy  is  only  ‘dressed-up  dummyism.’  That  sort  of 
thing  is  quite  natural  and  picturesque  in  Australians  and  Americans, 
but,  of  course,  it  is  different  with  us.  The  Tories  were  in  power  before 
I married.  And  then,  you  see,  there’s  the  result  of  the  Court  training 
that  Sandham  used  to  tease  me  about.”  Lady  Betty  laughed  softly. 
“ These  elections  and  the  war  have  made  people  so  horribly  in  earnest, 
and  I think  you  have  reason,  Mrs.  Kenway,  to  be  thankful  that  your 
husband  is  not  the  future  Radical  Prime  Minister  who,  every  one  says, 
is  going  to  turn  England  topsy-turvy.” 

“ Every  one,  Lady  Betty?”  exclaimed  Koor&li  with  warmth.  “A 
Radical  Prime  Minister  must  be  the  choice  of  the  nation.” 

“ Oh,  well ! ” said  Lady  Betty,  with  a pretty  little  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  “ I think  * the  nation 9 is  all  very  well  as  an  abstract 
quantity,  don’t  you  know  ? and  a faithful  shepherd  is  very  picturesque 
in  open-air  theatricals  at  Coombe  and  that  sort  of  thing ; but  when  it 
comes  to  letting  haymakers  settle  our  foreign  policy  lor  us — well,  I 
think  I prefer  the  feudal  system.” 

“ It  is  not  the  agricultural  labourers  who  disagree  with  you,”  said 
Koorali.  “ They  are  all  voting  against  the  farmers,  who  want  peace. 
It’s  the  farmers  and  the  educated  working-men  of  the  cities,  Lady 
Betty,  that  are  supporting  your  husband.” 

“ My  dear  Mrs.  Ken  way,  you  do  know  about  it.  You  know  ever  «o 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB . 203 

much  more  than  I do.  Sandham  must  have  found  you  a much  apter 
pupil  than  ever  he  found  me,  I am  afraid.” 

“ I had  the  advantage  of  knowing  nothing  and  of  having  no  opinions 
formed,”  Koorali  said,  with  a smile.  “ My  mind  was  a blank  sheet  of 
paper.” 

“ Until  Sandham  wrote  on  it,”  Lady  Betty  answered  graciously,  and 
, supplying  for  Koontli’s  words  an  application  KoorMi  had  not  thought 
of  giving  them.  “ Yes ; it  does  make  a difference.  I was  brought  up 
in  such  a way — in  a narrow  way,  I dare  say ; but  one  can’t  help  the 
influences  that  surround  one  at  the  beginning.  Sometimes  1 wish 
Sandham  had  converted  me ; for  I don’t  suppose  now  I could  ever 
have  converted  him.  Of  course  one  would  like  to  feel  exactly  as  one’s 
husband  felt;  and  to  go  with  him  in  everything.  But  I don’t  think 
he  ever  tried  to  convert  me ; I really  don’t  believe  he  ever  did.  And, 
of  course,  if  he  did  not  try,  how  was  I to  know  that  he  wanted  me  to 
be  anything  other  than  what  I was?  ” 

Lady  Betty  was  arguing  thus  to  herself  more  than  to  Koorali,  arguing 
in  a half-plaintive,  half-complaining  sort  of  way.  Koorali  felt  deeply 
touched.  It  might  have  been  well,  she  thought,  if  Lady  Betty’s  hus- 
band had  tried  to  bring  her  over  to  his  own  views ; and  yet  she  could 
easily  understand  how  a strong  man  would  prefer  to  spare  that  sweet, 
that  gently  frivolous  nature  the  trouble  of  a political  conversion  or  a 
political  education.  It  is  the  generous  mistake  of  the  strong,  when 
the  strong  are  generous,  to  fancy  that  the  weak  can  by  any  manner  of 
protection  be  enabled  to  evade  the  perplexities  of  the  life  that  is  around 
them,  and  that  are,  like  the  east  wind,  sure  to  fiud  their  way  in. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB. 

The  elections  were  over  and  Morse’s  hopes  of  an  independent  party 
were  gone.  He  had  had  up  to  the  last  a faint  belief  that  it  would  be 
possible  to  get  together  after  the  elections,  and  by  virtue  of  their 
mandate,  a party  strong  enough  to  repudiate  the  foreign  policy  of  the 
Government  and  to  save  the  country  from  war.  The  elections  killed 
this  hope.  The  result  was  that  the  Conservative  party  was  in  a hope- 
less minority.  The  Liberals  united  would  be  in  a strong  majority ; 
and  of  the  two  sections  which  made  up  the  party,  Morse’s  friends  were 
much  the  stronger.  Morse  was  the  coming  Prime  Minister,  every  one 
said.  All  eyes  turned  to  him.  It  became  known  that  the  Govern- 
ment would  meet  the  new  Parliament,  and  would  hold  on  until  a vote 
of  confidence  ejected  them.  This  would  happen  almost  at  once,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  people  said;  and  then  would  come  the  Liberal  party, 
led  by  a Radical  Prime  Minister.  “ Happy' man,  Morse!  ” the  world 
said.  “ Not  yet  quite  forty-five  year§  old,  and  already  at  the  height  of 


204 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


Ids  ambition ! Prime  Minister — the  first  Radical  Prime  Minister  of 
England  ! ” When  the  news  was  telegraphed  to  South  Britain,  the 
capital  of  the  colony  was  illuminated  in  honour  of  the  triumph  of  the 
man  who  had  once  been  at  the  head  of  the  Government  there. 

Ninety-nine  men  out  of  every  hundred  hailed  Morse  already  as 
Prime  Minister.  Yes;  but  the  hundredth  man — as  Morse  himself 
would  have  put  it— the  hundredth  man,  who  knew  better,  what  did 
he  say?  Morse  had  already  made  up  his  mind.  The  majority  of  the 
Liberal  party  was  in  favour  of  a war  policy  ; and  Morse  would  not  be 
the  Minister  of  a war  policy  ; at  least,  undei  such  conditions.  He  was 
no  peace-at-anv-price  man ; he  was  convinced  that  peace  had  some- 
times many  evils  far  worse  than  war.  He  did  not  believe  that  life, 
mere  breath,  is  so  great  a thing  as  to  be  worth  keeping  at  the  sacrifice 
of  any  noble  purpose,  or  the  expense  of  any  national  cause.  But  he 
was  convinced  that  war  just  then,  and  war  for  such  a purpose,  would 
be  unjust ; that  it  would  come  as  the  result  of  a whole  system  of  policy 
of  which  he  heartily  disapproved;  which  he  detested;  and  there  was 
but  one  course  open  to  him. 

Morse  came  up  to  town  immediately  after  his  own  re-election. 
Lady  Brtty,  who  had  gone  to  her  father’s  place  during  the  last  part  of 
the  struggle,  did  not  hasten  up.  She  had  heard  Morse’s  deci>ion  from 
him,  and  she  was  hurt  and  troubled  by  it.  She  could  not  understand 
it,  she  could  not  understand  him.  She  was  very  much  displeased 
with  him  in  her  pretty  pouting  little  way.  There  had  been  another 
small  scene  between  them,  in  which  she  had  implored  him,  with  all  the 
earnestness  and  logic  she  had  at  command,  to  yield  to  the  pressure  of 
public  opinion,  to  seize  his  opportunity,  to  espouse  the  war  policy  and 
ingratiate  himself  with  the  Court  party,  and  to  justify  his  change  of 
front  by  the  changed  aspect  of  the  situation.  He  had  listened  to  her 
arguments  and  her  entreaties,  and  had  coldly,  almost  sternly,  refused. 
Lady  Betty  was  deeply  hurt  by  the  refusal ; she  thought  she  had  a 
right  to  ask,  and  that  he  ought  to  do  what  she  asked  him  so  earnestly 
to  do.  If  he  were  to  ask  her  to  do  anything,  would  she  not  do  it? 
Ah,  yes,  indeed  she  would.  She  wanted  him  to  be  Prime  Minister. 
She  wanted  to  flaunt  him  and  his  great  position  in  the  faces  of  the 
relatives  who  once  tried  to  look  down  on  him;  and  she  wanted  him 
to  be  at  the  head  of  a War  Ministry.  For  all  her  sweetness  anti 
gentleness  her  bosom  throbbed  at  the  thought  of  England  redeeming 
all  her  past  glory  and  as  victorious  in  a great  war.  Would  not  her 
father  and  all  her  relatives  be  proud  of  her  husband  then  ? And  she 
wanted  Morse  to  give  ministerial  places  to  ever  so  many  of  her  friends. 
There  were  some  dear  women  to  whom  she  had  already  all  but  pro- 
mised places  in  the  Ministry  for  their  clever  husbands.  Moreover, 
some  of  the  things  Lady  Betty  had  been  hearing  at  her  father’s  rankled 
more  and  m<>re  in  her  mind.  Lord  Germilion’s  friends  would  keep 
saying  that  it  was  so  un-English  to  thiuk  of  truckling  to  any  European 
power;  and  she  was  particularly  anxious  that  her  husband  should 
prove  himself  a thorough  Englishman,  with  plenty  of  fight  in  him. 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB . 205 

So  L?idy  Betty  remained  at  her  father’s  in  the  country,  and  Morse  came 
up  to  town. 

Among  the  letters  he  found  awaiting  him  was  one  from  “ The 
Progressive  Club.”  The  Progressive  Club  was  a peculiar  sort  of 
institution.  It  had  been  started  some  years  before,  for  the  purpose  of 
spreading  the  views  of  intellectual  democracy  among  the  more  educated 
classes.  Its  arena  was  not  very  large,  to  be  sure.  The  club  consisted 
of  twent) -four  members,  of  whom  half  were  chosen  from  within  and 
half  chosen  from  without  the  House  of  Commons.  Among  the  latter 
half  women  were  eligible  for  election,  and  there  were,  in  fact,  several 
ladies  in  the  club.  The  propaganda  was  carried  on  in  a very  easy  and 
unpretentious  way.  The  club  dined  together  several  times  in  each 
session  and  discussed  the  political  topics  of  the  hour.  As  regards 
principles  there  was  not  usually  much  opening  for  controversy.  It 
was  a case  of  preaching  to  the  converted  ; but  on  expediency,  detail, 
the  time  when,  and  manner  how,  and  so  forth,  often  very  animated 
discussion  took  place.  There  was  no  speech-making;  the  members 
sat  round  the  table  after  dinner  and  each  gave  an  opinion  on  the  pre- 
scribed subject  in  turn.  The  club  had  no  Used  habitation.  It  ranged 
among  a few  chosen  hotels  and  restaurants  in  the  winter  and  spring, 
and  it  expanded  to  the  Ship  at  Greenwich,  or  the  Star  and  Garter, 
Richmond,  in  the  summer.  One  of  its  fundamental  principles  was 
that  no  member  must  hold  office  in  a Government.  The  mere  fact  of 
his  taking  a place  in  an  Administration  disqualified  him.  Morse  had 
been  a member  of  the  club  for  some  years,  and  had  then  been  dis- 
qualified by  his  acceptance  of  a place  in  the  late  Government.  Now 
he  was  again  a member,  having  been  elected  at  once — or  at  least  on 
the  fir.*t  vacancy,  when  his  colleagues  and  himself  went  out  of  office  ; 
and  just  now  everybody  was  saying  that  he  was  about  to  be  disquali- 
fied again.  The  letter  Morse  found  awaiting  him  was  an  invitation  to 
attend  a dinner  of  the  club  that  very  day. 

“All  right,”  Morse  said  to  himself.  “As  well  there  as  anywhere 
else;  better  there,  perhaps,  than  anywhere  else.  The  sooner  it  is 
known  the  less  trouble  there  will  be.  I don’t  want  to  be  6 sent 
for.’  ” 

It  was  a Sunday ; and  the  dinner  of  the  club  was  appointed  for  that 
day  because  it  was  thought  that  the  coming  week  would  probably 
bring  forth  some  important  political  combinations,  and  the  club  wanted 
to  discuss  them  beforehand.  The  particular  subject  set  down  for  that 
evenings  discussion  was  “ The  Duty  of  a Radical  under  the  Present 
Political  Conditions.”  It  was  the  title  of  the  subject  that  decided 
Morse  on  going  to  the  dinner.  The  club  might  not,  perhaps,  be  very 
important  as  a political  organization  ; but  some  of  its  members  were 
men  of  undoubted  political  capacity  and  position.  One  or  two  were 
men  who  would  assuredly  expect  to  be  called  upon  to  take  part  in  an 
Administration  formed  by  Morse.  So  Morse  resolved  that  he  would 
keep  out  of  the  way  of  any  of  his  political  acquaintances  until  he  had 
said  his  say  at  the  dinner  of  the  Progressive  Club.  He  would  have 


206 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


longed  to  call  on  KoorMi.  He  knew  she  was  at  home.  He  thought 
perhaps  she  would  expect  to  see  him.  If  she  knew  that  he  had  re- 
turmd  to  town,  he  thought  she  would  be  disappointed  if  he  did  not  go 
to  see  her.  He  would  have  dearly  liked  to  tell  her  first  of  his  fixed 
determination.  She  would  understand  it,  he  knew,  he  well  knew. 
Yet  it  did  not  seem  to  him  as  if  he  ought  to  go  to  see  her,  as  if  he 
could  go  to  see  her.  Not  one  word  of  love  had  ever  been  spoken 
bet  ween  them.  He  might  have  gone  to  see  her  now  as  well  as  in  other 
days,  and  no  one  would  have  thought  anything  about  it.  But  he 
could  not  go.  To  do  so  would  not  be  in  accord  with  that  code  of  duty 
he  had  prescribed  for  himself,  and  which  had  been  tacitly  understood 
between  them.  He  knew  that  things  were  not  now  as  they  had  been 
before  those  days  in  Lyndf>rdshire.  He  knew  that  he  had  come  to 
think  far  too  much  about  her;  and  the  terrible  thought,  half  fear,  half 
certainty,  that  she  had  come  to  think  too  much  about  him,  was  always 
present  in  his  mind.  “No,”  he  said  to  himself,  “I’ll  not  see  her 
again,  unless  chance  should  throw  us  together  in  the  ordinary  way — 
I’ll  not  go  to  see  her.” 

He  read  a heap  of  letters  and  papers,  and  he  saw  no  one.  Then  he 
felt  weary  of  reading  and  went  out  into  the  Park.  It  was,  as  has  been 
said,  a Sunday ; the  time  was  now  not  long  past  noon.  It  was  a fine 
cheery  winter  day,  and  a soft  sun  seemed  almost  as  if  it  were  moulded 
into  a bank  of  gulden  cloud  and  mist.  The  Park  was  full  of  people  ; 
not  merely  f'ashionab  e people  of  the  Bow,  but  eager,  excited  groups  of 
unfashionable  persons  as  well.  Morse  looked  with  curiosity  at  each 
group  and  scene  as  he  passed  it.  Here  there  was  a Salvationist  preach- 
ing to  his  crowd,  and  calling  on  them  to  arise  and  be  converted ; there 
a "social  democrat  harangued  his  little  group,  and  denounced  the 
political  and  social  laws  which  make  the  working-man  and  the  work- 
ing-man’s wife  and  daughter  the  victims  of  the  capitalist.  In  another 
place  a Peace  Society  lecturer  held  forth  on  the  horrors  of  war,  and 
called  on  all  who  loved  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  their  native  land 
to  oppose  any  and  every  Minister  who  strove  to  drive  the  country  over 
the  precipice  and  into  a great  continental  struggle.  Here  and  there  a 
republican  orator  dilated  on  the  luxury  of  Courts,  and  made  special 
reference  to  the  Civil  List  and  the  misery  of  the  poor.  Under  the 
trees  the  question  of  Mr.  Bradlaugh’s  election  was  vehemently  ex- 
pounded and  fiercely  argued.  Far  away  the  smart  pedestrians  in  the 
Park  were  beginning  to  pace  their  formal  monotonous  promenade. 
The  preachers,  orators,  and  audiences  were  nothing  to  them.  The 
preachers  might  have  been  preaching,  the  orators  spouting,  the 
audiences  wide-mouthed  listening,  for  successive  Sundays  in  many 
years  so  far  as  they  were  concerned.  They  would  have  seen,  perhaps, 
that  something  was  going  on,  but  they  would  never  have  taken  the 
trouble  10  ask  or  to  think  about  it,  or  what  it  meant,  or  what  it  was. 
This  impressed  itself  upon  the  mind  of  Morse  as  he  stood  to  hear  what 
one  of  the  speech-makers  had  to  say.  “Are  we  not  still  the  two 
nations?”  he  asked  himself,  “just  the  same  as  when  Disraeli  wrote 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB . 


207 

‘Sybil*?  The  nation  which  amuses  itself;  the  nation  which  works 
and  suffers.” 

Few  men  could  be  less  egotistic  or  self-conscious  than  Morse.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  while  he  was  standing  on  the  verge  of  the  crowd 
that  he  was  a conspicuous  public  personage,  and  that  some  one  would 
be  sure  to  recognize  him.  He  was  for  the  moment  not  in  the  politi- 
cian’s mood.  lie  had  become  a dreamer  again,  and  he  was  meditating 
vaguely  over  the  prospects  of  these  two  nations  settled  side  by  side, 
and  yet  to  all  appearance  divided  hopelessly  in  interests  and  feelings. 
Suddenly  he  heard  his  name  called  out;  first  by  one  voice,  then  by 
another,  and  then  by  the  whole  crowd;  and  he  soon  saw  that  the 
crowd  was  swelled  by  another  crowd,  and  yet  another.  In  fact,  he 
found  himself  surrounded  by  a great  throng,  the  centre  of  a large 
popular  meeting,  and  the  meeting  was  shouting  as  with  one  throat  for 
him  to  address  them. 

Morse  had  no  more  reverence  for  the  dignity  of  statesmanship  than 
Macaulay  had  for  the  dignity  of  history.  He  did  not  see  any  reason 
why  a man  who  had  once  been  a Cabinet  Minister  should  not  speak  to 
a meeting  of  his  fellow-countrymen  in  the  open  air.  Without  troub- 
ling himself  to  think  about  the  matter,  he  accepted  the  invitation, 
mounted  the  extemporized  platform,  and  found  himself  delivering  a 
speech  to  a Sunday  meeting  in  Hyde  Park. 

He  had  the  eloquence  of  clear  purpose  and  strong  straightforward 
utterance,  with  a certain  flavour  of  the  emotional,  and  even  the  poetic, 
which  lifted  him  from  the  conventional  and  the  commonplace. 

“Desist  from  the  denunciation  of  the  rich,”  he  said  ; “they  can’t 
help  being  rich  any  more  than  you  can  help  being  poor.  You  don’t  want 
them  to  give  you  any  of  their  money  ; you  would  not  take  it,  I hope. 
You  are  poor,  most  of  you,  but  you  are  not  paupers  or  beggars.  What 
we  want  is  a better  system;  abetter  adjustment  of  burdens;  more 
freedom  to  help  ourselves ; more  room ; more  light ; more  air ; more 
elasticity.  We  want  a policy  which  shall  not  be  the  policy  of  the 
placeman  and  the  partisan.  We  want  to  have  the  people  of  these 
countries  thought  of  and  cared  for,  in  the  first  place.  I am  sorry  it 
the  Eastern  Question  is  not  all  right;  but  I am  much  more  sorry  for 
the  condition  of  things  in  the  East  End  of  London.  That  is  my 
Eastern  question.  The  Greeks  have  my  sympathies ; but  England’s 
business  just  now  is  with  the  unemployed  poor  here,  at  home. 
England’s  prestige  ? Yes;  I long  to  see  England’s  prestige  made  to 
shine  to  all  the  world — the  prestige  of  a nation  with  all  its  classes 
united,  industrious,  and  happy.  I long  to  see  England  crowned  with 
glory  ; the  glory  of  honesty,  happiness,  and  peace  ; a prestige  of  which 
the  light  shall  shine  for  the  guidance  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth.” 

The  whole  crowd  took  up  the  full  meaning  of  his  words  and  cheered 
tumultuously.  Masterson,  haranguing  his  own  little  group*  under 
some  distant  trees,  his  long  grey  locks  floating  in  the  wind,  found 
himself  all  but  deserted,  and  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his  oration  to 
ask  what  was  going  on.  He  was  told  that  Mr.  Morse  was  addressing 


208 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .J 


the  people,  and  was  declaring  against  foreign  wars;  and  Masfcerson 
would  have  liked  to  run  and  kiss  Morse’s  feet.  He  did  indeed  bring 
his  speech  to  a speedy  close,  and  hastened  to  where  he  was  told  Morse 
was  speaking;  but  by  the  time  he  got  there  the  speech  was  over  and 
Morse  was  gone. 

That  evening  the  news  was  all  over  London  that  Morse  had  been 
addressing  a public  meeting  under  the  Reformers’  Tree  in  Hyde  Paik ; 
and  elderly  politicians  wondered  what  the  world  was  coming  to,  and 
dowagers  shook  their  heads  and  declared  that  they  felt  so  sorry,  oh, 
so  very,  very  sorry,  for  poor  dear  Lady  Betty  ! It  must  be  such  a 
grief  to  her,  they  said;  but  then  they  added  that  they  always  expected 
something  of  the  kind.  You  can’t  marry  a man  like  that , a republican 
and  a democrat,  and  Heaven  knows  what  else,  without  having  to 
suffer  for  it.  Some  hoped  poor  Lord  Germillion  would  not  come  to 
know  of  it ; and  others  asked,  Would  it  not  be  well  to  write  to  him 
at  once,  and  tell  him  of  it,  and  see  whether  something  could  not  be 
done? 

Meanwhile  Morse,  wholly  indifferent  to  what  the  dowagers  and  the 
elderly  politicians  might  be  saying  about  him,  made  his  way  to  the 
quarters  of  the  Progressive  Club.  The  club  held  this  day’s  meeting 
in  a great  new  gloomy -looking  hotel.  Members  of  the  dub  did  not 
dress  for  dinner;  a fact  which  rather  disconcerted  Lady  Deveril,  who 
had  recently  been  elected,  and  who  was  proud  of  her  aims  and 
shoulders.  Lady  Deveril  had  had  a quarrel  with  the  Dames  of  the 
Primrose  League,  and  suddenly  found  herself  a convinced  Radical. 
Hhe  was  understood  to  be  engaged  in  the  production  of  a political 
novel ; and  she  had  succeeded  in  getting  herself  elected  to  till  a vacancy 
on  the  roll  of  members  of  the  Progressive  Club.  This  was  her  first 
day  of  dining  with  the  club. 

There  were  three  ladies  present  this  day  besides  Lady  Deveiil. 
There  was  Lady  Constance  Arklow,  daughter-in-law  of  a great  Whig 
peer,  the  heaviness  of  whose  Whig  dogmatism  was  believed  to  have 
driven  Lady  Constance  into  incurable  Radicalism.  She  had  a rather 
mannish  air  of  independence,  a sallow  face,  a habit  of  wrinkling  up 
her  eyes,  and  a generally  humorous  look.  Not  that  she  was  in  the 
least  bit  humorous.  She  took  life  rather  seriously.  Lady  Constance 
was  revolutionary  in  everything;  no  institution  was  sacred  from  her 
regenerating  curiosity.  She  was  the  authoress  of  a work  on  “Poly- 
gamy and  Polyandry  in  Civilized  and  Uncivilized  Nations,”  which 
was  understood  to  treat  its  subjects  in  a cool,  scientific  sort  of  way. 

Mrs.  Reginald  Falconer  was  an  advocate  of  woman’s  lights;  but 
she  was  entirely  unlike  the  woman’s  rights’  advocate  of  the  conven- 
tional type,  the  caricaturist’s  pattern.  She  was  a pretty,  bright,  win- 
some young  woman;  a slender  creature,  who  prattled  so  pleasantly 
and  artlessly,  and  got  off  such  smart  and  shining  little  epigrams,  that 
she  might  have  beguiled  even  an  old  bachelor  into  a momentary  weak- 
ness for  the  cause  she  so  bevitchingly  advocated.  Mr.  Piercy,  the 
scientist,  alone  was  proof  against  her  arguments  and  her  fasc  nations. 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB . 


209 


“ I don’t  see  the  use  of  giving  children  sweets  overnight  in  order  to 
give  them  a black  dose  in  the  morning,”  was  his  somewhat  gruff  reply 
to  Mrs.  Falconer’s  sweet  appeal. 

She  turned  away  with  a shrug  of  her  shapely  shoulders  to  greet  a 
more  hopeful  convert. 

The  other  lady,  with  the  face  of  an  enthusiastic  St.  Monica,  was 
Mrs.  Gage,  who  had  a seat  on  one  of  the  metropolitan  school  boards, 
and  who  had  become  known  to  the  world  by  her  persevering  advocacy 
of  a scheme  for  the  amalgamation  of  all  the  churches  into  one,  on 
the  principle  of  general  and  equal  compromise,  each  giving  up  a little 
of  its  own  belief  in  consideration  of  a similar  surrender  made  by  every 
other.  When  Morse  came  into  the  room  Mrs.  Gage  was  earnestly 
endeavouring  to  induce  Father  St.  Maurice  to  admit  the  principles  on 
which  she  based  her  scheme.  He  listened  to  her  with  a sweet,  com- 
passionate patience,  which  was  in  itself  an  interesting  study. 

There  was  a little  flutter  when  Morse  entered.  “ The  hero  of  the 
hour,”  murmured  Lady  Deveril;  and  she  had  sympathetic  inquiries  to 
make  concerning  dear  Lady  Betty,  which  rather  irritated  Morse. 
There  were  also  some  inquiries  for  Mrs.  Ken  way.  It  had  been 
rumoured  that  Koorali  was  to  be  elected  a member  of  the  Progressive 
Club.  A woman  said  to  enjoy  the  confidence  of  the  coming  Prime 
Minister  demands  some  consideration.  The  mention  of  Koorali’s  name 
grated  upon  Morse  still  more.  He  escaped  from  the  subject,  and 
congratulated  Lady  Deveril  upon  having,  metaphorically  speaking, 
exchanged  the  reaping  hook  for  the  sword,  and  upon  having  given  up 
the  mild  pursuit  of  “copy”  in  fashionable  drawing-rooms  for  the  more 
exciting  study  of  politics. 

The  men  of  the  party  mustered  stronger  than  the  women,  and  were 
all  more  or  less  figures  in  London  life,  and  liable  at  this  crisis  to 
attacks  from  interviewers.  Perhaps  one  of  the  most  influential  persons 
was  the  editor  of  a great  daily  newspaper.  A flash  of  something  more 
than  interest  passed  over  his  imperturbable  face  as  Morse  nodded  to 
him.  But  he  only  stroked  his  beard  reflectively,  and  began  talking 
to  his  next  neighbour  of  a volume  of  memoirs  that  had  lately  come 
out.  He  never  hunted  for  information,  though  he  got  it  earlier  than 
any  other  editor  in  London,  but  waited,  like  the  spider  in  his  web, 
concealing  his  rapacious  instinct  under  a sort  of  literary  priggism. 
He  wrote  biographies  in  his  leisure  hours,  and  had  started  a school 
of  doctrinaires,  who  wrote  biographies,  too,  and  laid  down  the  law  on 
everything. 

Two  younger  sons  were  in  the  party,  each  of  whom  had  gone  into 
training  for  office,  and  both  of  whom  had  got  so  far  as  to  be  actually 
in  the  House  of  Commons.  Foreign  affairs  gave  Lord  Albert  Folger 
his  chosen  field.  Lord  Albert  regarded  the  world  as  his  artichoke,  to 
be  devoured  leaf  by  leaf.  Wherever  there  was  a war  he  hurritd  to  the 
scene  of  battle.  If  an  insurrection  broke  out  anywhere,  Lord  Albert 
Folger  was  a spectator  of  the  progress  of  events  as  quickly  as  steamer, 
train,  horse,  mule,  camel,  or  ostrich  could  carry  him  to  the  spot.  The 

JO 


210 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


moment  some  new  man  started  up  in  foreign  politics  anywhere,  Lord 
Albert  went  for  him,  was  introduced  to  him,  compared  views  with 
him,  and  came  home  and  talked  about  him  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  wrote  about  him  in  the  newspapers.  He  was  well  acquainted  with 
Arabi  Pasha,  had  had  more  than  one  conversation  with  Mr.  O’Donovan 
Rossa,  and  tried  to  cheer  up  the  latest  hours  of  Louis  Riel.  He  made 
an  effort  to  get  to  speech  of  the  Mahdi  in  the  Mahdi’s  lifetime,  and 
got  as  far  as  Dongola,  when  he  was  mistaken  for  a French  renegade 
nud  stopped  and  sent  back  to  Cairo. 

Lord  Albert  had  lately  become  a devoted  adherent  of  Morse  and 
his  fortunes,  and  saw  himself,  in  anticipation,  Under-Secretary  for 
Foreign  Affairs,  with  his  chief  in  the  House  of  Lords — master  of  the 
situation,  as  Lord  Beaconsfield  describes  the  holder  of  so  enviable 
a position.  He  was  particularly  anxious  to  see  Morse  to-day,  because 
he  hoped  to  get  from  him,  in  an  indirect  way,  some  idea  as  to  whether 
there  would  be  time  for  him  to  run  to  Athens  and  see  how  things 
were  really  looking  there,  before  anything  serious  was  done  in 
Parliament. 

The  Honourable  Stephen  Sinclair,  a young  man  with  one  of  those 
saturnine  countenances  which  express  a lofty  contempt  for  all  things 
created,  had  gone  into  training  in  a different  sort  of  way.  He  was  for 
mastering  facts  and  figures.  He  had  amassed  the  greatest  amount  of 
inaccurate  statistical  information  acquired  by  any  living  man.  There 
was  no  subject  open  to  human  study  or  even  human  fancy  on  which 
he  had  not  figures  to  give.  His  knowledge  was  offensive.  He  was 
only  happy  when  he  was  showing  people  that  they  were  all  wrong 
about  everything.  Since  he  came  into  the  room  he  had  accomplished 
two  gratifying  feats.  He  had  put  Mr.  Piercy  into  a passion  by  endea- 
vouring to  prove  to  him  that  he  was  utterly  mistaken  about  a scientific 
question,  to  the  study  of  which  Mr.  Piercy  had  devoted  about  half  his 
life;  and  Mr.  Piercy  was  sixty-four,  while  Mr.  Sinclair  was  only 
twenty-six.  Then  he  addressed  himself  to  Lady  Constance  Arklow, 
and  made  her  almost  cry  by  insisting  that  the  figures  on  which  she 
had  founded  the  greater  part  of  the  theories  developed  in  her  book 
were  altogether  erroneous,  and  by  giving  her  what  he  assured  her  she 
would  find  to  be  the  right  figures,  and  which  would  prove  to  demon- 
stration the  very  contrary  of  all  that  she  had  asserted.  After  this 
Mr.  Sinclair  bounced  briskly  about  the  room,  putting  out  people’s 
theories  here  and  there,  as  if  they  were  so  many  candles  he  was  sent 
to  extinguish. 

There  was  a Scottish  professor,  whose  principal  political  theme  was 
proportional  representation,  and  who  commonly  demonstrated  the 
simplicity  and  clearness  of  his  system  with  a lucidity  which  made 
unfortunate  listeners,  trying  their  best  to  understand  it,  become 
possessed  with  the  fearsome  idea  that  they  were  getting  softening  of 
the  brain.  There  was  a man  whose  theme  was  India,  of  which  he 
regarded  England  as  a mere  dependency.  There  was  an  advocate  cf 
peace,  a handsome,  grave  man,  with  a full  white  beard  and  moustache, 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB. 


2 1 1 


And  a face  which  reminded  one  of  some  portrait  of  a Venetian  senator, 
and  suggested  that  its  owner  ought  to  be  attired  in  black  velvet.  The 
business  in  life  of  this  politician  was  to  write  treatises  and  make 
speeches  on  the  wisdom  of  universal  disarmament,  and  the  establish- 
ment of  an  international  council,  composed  of  one  delegate  from  each 
of  the  nations  of  the  world,  civilized  and  uncivilized  alike,  for  the 
settlement  of  all  disputes.  He  had  convinced  himself  that  the  Great 
Pyramid  was  intended  to  be  regarded  as  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and 
he  therefore  proposed  that  the  council  of  all  nations  should  assemble 
at  its  base.  One  incidental  blessing  which  he  hoped  to  bring  out  by 
his  international  council  was  the  adoption  of  an  international  language. 
He  justly  argued  that  as  the  council  swelled  in  numbers,  and  began  to 
receive  delegate  after  delegate  from  the  various  peoples  and  tribes,  it 
would  be  found  that  some  of  the  delegates  did  not  understand  what 
others  were  saying.  It  would,  therefore,  be  needful  to  adopt  some 
common  form  of  discourse,  and  each  delegate  as  he  returned  to  his 
home  would  naturally  teach  this  language  to  his  own  people.  The 
result  would  be  the  gradual  institution  of  one  tongue  common  to  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth.  He  sometimes  admitted,  with  a sigh,  that 
he  did  not  expect  to  have  this  great  object  accomplished  in  his  life- 
time. 

The  dinner  was  held  in  a great  bare  room,  with  a painted  ceiling 
and  a good  deal  of  ornamentation  and  tarnished  gilding  about  it ; but 
at  the  same  time  an  air  of  sumptuousness  was  displayed  in  the  hot- 
house flowers  and  the  table  appointments,  for  the  Progressive  Club 
prided  itself  upon  being  in  advance  of  seasons  and  upon  the  recherche 
nature  generally  of  its  repasts. 

The  club  appointed  each  day  a chairman  to  preside  at  the  dinner- 
table  and  the  subsequent  discussion.  The  choice  this  time  fell  on  Mr. 
Weatherby  Cutts,  a person  of  great  promise  it  was  understood,  who 
had  just  been  elected  to  Parliament.  Mr.  Weatherby  Cutts  was  from 
the  provinces,  but  had  now  settled  himself  and  his  family  in  town. 
He  was  a big,  florid  man,  rather  what  the  Americans  would  call  fleshy 
than  fat.  He  was  provincial  of  the  provincial  in  his  manners.  He 
was  argumentative,  dogmatic,  aggressive ; a man  evidently  determined 
not  under  any  conditions  to  be  done  by  anybody,  and  who  was  still 
under  the  impression  that  all  London  had  entered  into  a conspiracy  to 
do  him.  His  great  ambition  was  to  live  in  London,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  show  to  all  Londoners  how  utterly  inferior  they  were  in  every- 
thing to  the  people  of  the  great  provincial  town  from  which  he  came. 
Mr.  Cutts  had  long  been  accustomed  to  carry  all  before  him  at  the 
school  board  and  in  the  town  council  of  his  native  city,  and  he  would 
have  given  evidence  of  this  habitude  if  he  had  been  suddenly  intro- 
duced into  the  midst  of  a congress  of  great  ambassadors,  a conclave 
of  cardinals,  or  what  Napoleon  promised  to  Talma,  a pitful  of  kings. 

Mr.  Cutts  bullied  the  waiters  a good  deal  during  the  dinner;  and; 
indeed,  he  occasionally  bullied  the  guests  as  well,  if  they  showed  any 
inclination  to  express  any  satisfaction  with  the  way  in  which  things 


212 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


were  done  in  that  hotel.  Mr.  Cutts  would  not  allow  any  such  expres- 
sions of  approval  to  pass  without  loudly  making  it  known  that  that 
sort  of  thing  might  do  in  London,  but  it  would  not  bo  endured  in 
his  native  town.  One  moment  of  fearful  crisis  came.  The  bill  of  fare 
spoke  of  asparagus  with  the  roast,  whereas  the  waiters  were  handing 
round  sea-kale.  This  was  a clear  case  for  the  dignity  of  the  chairman 
to  assert  itself.  Mr.  Cutts  summoned  the  head  waiter;  he  would  not 
condescend  to  express  his  remonstrance  to  any  mere  underling.  The 
head  waiter  came  and  stood  meekly  ; his  head  a little  on  one  side,  and 
inclined  towards  Mr.  Cutts,  a listening  attitude  with  deference  thrown 
in.  Mr.  Cutts  sternly  asked  why  one  vegetable  was  in  the  bill  of  fare 
and  another  on  the  tables.  The  head  waiter  did  not  know ; supposed 
there  had  been  an  alteration  made. 

“By  whose  authority,  sir?”  Mr.  Cutts  demanded,  with  folded  arms 
and  knitted  brows.  “ By  whose  authority  ? That  is  what  I want  to 
know.”  He  looked  round  the  table  triumphantly,  as  if  to  say,  “ Now 
you  feeble  Londoners  can  see  what  manner  of  men  we  are  in  my  town, 
and  how  slight  is  the  chance  of  any  one  getting  the  better  of  us.” 
“By  whose  authority,”  he  a«ain  demanded,  “was  this  change  made?” 

The  head  waiter  timidly  suggested  that  it  might  have  been  by  the 
authority  of  the  manager. 

“ Send  the  manager  here,  sir,  instantly — instantly,”  Mr.  Cutts  said 
in  loud  and  appalling  tones,  and  he  struck  both  hands  down  upon  the 
table. 

“Is  it  really  worth  while?”  Father  St.  Maurice  softly  interposed, 
gently  shrugging  his  shoulders.  His  feelings  towards  Mr.  Cutts  were 
beginning  to  be  very  much  like  those  which  a thoroughbred  Arab 
steed  might  be  supposed  to  have  towards  a noisy,  lumbering,  big- 
footed dray  horse,  or  a Damascus  blade  to  a piece  of  rusty  iron  hoop 
with  a cross  handle  put  to  it  and  thus  converted  info  a weapon. 

“Another  burden  added  to  the  cares  of  life,”  murmured  Lady 
Deveril  plaintively ; “ the  difficulty  of  providing  people  with  some- 
thing to  eat.  The  game  season  is  on  certainly,  and  one  doesn’t  need 
to  take  refuge  in  calf’s  head  as  a novelty;  but  who  can  blame  an  hotel 
manager  for  backing  out  of  asparagus  at  £4  a bundle.” 

“Well,  it  is  pretty  certain,”  Morse  interposed  good-humouredly fc 
“that  we  shan’t  get  the  asparagus  now;  and,  perhaps,  it  is  hardly 
worth  while  having  a conference  with  the  manager.” 

Mr.  Cutts  shrugged  his  shoulders  more  emphatically  than  St. 
Maurice  1 ad  done ; threw  out  his  hands,  and  flung  himself  back  in  his 
chair  wilh  the  manner  of  one  who  would  say,  “If  you  poor  people 
really  like  to  be  done,  why,  have  it  your  own  v7ay;  1 don’t  want  to 
protect  you  against  your  will.” 

There  was  a good  deal  of  general  talk  about  the  late  elections,  the 
grouping  of  parties,  the  tripartite  formation  of  the  new  House,  the 
tactics  of  this  or  that  member  of  a Cabinet  supposed  to  be  on  its  last 
legs,  or  of  an  understanding  arrived  at  between  leaders  of  different 
factions ; of  a threatening  note,  addressed  by  the  Prime  Minister  to 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB . 


3*3 


the  antagonistic  State,  which  it  was  thought  would  precipitate  war ; 
of  the  chances  for  and  against  a Liberal  Ministry, — all  this  discussed, 
wilh  a good  many  veiled  references  to  Morse,  who,  however,  at  this 
stage  did  not  enter  much  into  the  political  conversation,  but  devoted 
himself  principally  to  the  ladies  of  the  party. 

Something  was  said  about  Masterson,  and  certain  rumoured  socialist 
anti-war  demonstrations. 

“ I shouldn’t  be  surprised  at  anything  Masterson  might  do — short 
of  dynamite  or  the  dagger.  I think  he  would  draw  the  line  there,” 
said  Lord  Albert  Folger. 

“ Don’t  you  admire  him ! ” exclaimed  Lady  Constance  Arklow, 
looking  round  the  company  generally.  “I  think  he  is  perfectly 
splendid ! ” 

“ He’s  a plucky  fellow,  but  he  is  a lunatic,”  said  Mr.  Piercy.  “ I 
suppose  you’d  call  his  lunacy  enthusiasm?  ” 

“ Enthusiasm  is  the  spur  which  the  gods  use,”  put  in  Father  St. 
Maurice’s  liquid  voice. 

Enthusiasm  is  the  curse  of  the  individual  or  of  the  nation,” 
growled  Mr.  Weatherby  Cutts.  “It  leads  to  prison  in  the  one  case,  and 
to  taxes  and  trade  depression  in  the  other.” 

“Oh,  l sympathize  with  the  enthusiasts,”  said  the  pretty  woman’s- 
rights’  advocate.  “ They  are  laughed  at  by  their  generation  and  deified 
by  all  succeeding  ones.  Isn’t  it  so,  now  ? It’s  like  genius,  don’t  you 
know.  Ah,”  she  sighed,  “ I’m  an  enthusiast  myself.  I wish  that  I 
were  a genius  too.”  And  she  beamed  on  the  editor. 

“ We  should  none  of  us  mind  being  tarred  with  that  brush,”  cheer- 
fully replied  the  man  of  letters. 

“Well,  but  don’t  you  think  there  is  something  glorious  in  the  idea 
of  a great  nation  rising  up  in  battle?”  Lady  Deveiil  asked,  reverting 
to  the  original  topic.  “ I mean,  of  course,  in  a rightful  cause.  I 
should  not  like  England  to  go  to  war  in  a wrong  cause ; but  then, 
the  right,  you  know — when  one  sees  the  right — oh,  I do  think  it  is 
so  delightful;  it  is  like  the  Crusades  all  over  again.  I adore  the 
Crusades.” 

“ When  England  joined  in  the  Crusades,”  Father  St.  Maurice  said 
seriously,  “ she  had  a national  faith.  She  could  pray  for  light,  and 
she  could  believe.  That  true  Christian  faith  she  has  long  lost.  When 
she  finds  it  ng^in  she  will  be  able  to  know  what  is  a rightful  cause,  and 
light  will  come  to  her  to  show  her  where  and  when  and  how  to  strike.” 

“I  haven’t  any  patience  with  the  true  Christian’s  proprietary 
interest  in  faith,”  cried  Mrs.  Gage,  an  odd  gleam  lighting  up  her  St. 
Monica  face.  “ Why  should  we  be  immortal  ? Why  must  we  have 
souls  ? Why  ? Because  we  can  think  and  feel  ? Because  our  emo- 
tions are  wonderful  ? So  is  the  flame  of  gas ; but  the  flame  goes  out, 
and  there’s  an  end  of  it.” 

Mr.  Piercy  nodded  his  head  distinctly,  but  he  screwed  his  cynical 
lips  more  tightly  together.  He  did  not  condescend  to  lend  his  scien- 
tific authority  to  the  support  of  Mrs.  Gage’s  arguments. 


214 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


“ I am  sure  I have  tried  to  have  a faith,”  Lady  Deveril  said,  with  a 
melancholy  look  upwards  and  a sigh.  “ I have  been  at  ever  so  many 
meetings  of  the  Theosophical  Society,  and  I am  a member  of  the 
Society  of  Psychical  Research*  I’m  bound  to  say  that  I found  a great 
deal  of  ‘ copy  * there,  but  I didn’t  find  much  else.  I’ve  tried  so  many 
things,”  Lady  Deveril  said  plaintively,  “as  dear  Lady  Betty  can 
testify,  Mr.  Morse;  for  she  too  had  something  of  my  thirst  for  experi- 
ence, though  she  didn’t  look  at  it  altogether  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  higher  life — the  artistic  higher  life,  you  know.  I’m  not  thinking 
of  Mr.  Laurence  Oliphant — I onty  hope  that  politics  may  bring  me 
moie  satisfaction  than  the  rest — and  be  more  profitable.  It  is  the 
duty  of  a writer  to  study  everything,”  emphatically  pursued  Lady 
Deveril,  after  a little  pause,  during  which  she  took  breath  and  fixe<? 
the  editor’s  eye.  “ I spent  half  an  hour  to-day  talking  to  a coster- 
monger— getting  at  his  point  of  view.  He  had  such  a donkey.  I’d 
have  bought  it  if  I could  have  kept  it  on  the  leads.  The  ambition  of 
my  life  has  always  been  to  drive  a donkey  cart  out  slumming — a 
point  of  sympathy,  don’t  you  see.  But  unless  you  understand  their 
language,  it’s  very  hard  to  make  them  go.” 

“ Come  back  ro  the  war;  that’s  the  point.  Are  we  going  to  have  a 
war  or  are  we  not?”  said  Mr.  Weatherby  Cutts. 

“Oh,  I suppose  there  can’t  be  much  doubt  that  we  are  going  to 
have  a war,”  some  one  promptly  answered. 

“Very  well,  then.  Now,  I wan’t  to  come  to  the  point  at  once.  If 
we  are  to  have  the  war,  who  is  going  to  carry  it  on  ? Is  it  to  be  left 
in  the  hanns  of  the  Tories?  I for  one  say,  no,  no;  emphatically  no. 
If  the  th  ng  must  be  done,  I say,  let  us  do  it.  Kick  them  out  at 
once,  and  let  our  chaps  come  in ; that’s  business.” 

The  dinner  came  to  an  end  at  last ; the  waiters  left  the  room,  and 
now  the  real  conversation,  the  business  of  the  evening,  was  to  set  in. 
Mr.  Cutts,  as  chairman,  endeavoured  to  give  a tone  of  his  own  to  the 
whole  proceedings.  He  set  about  opening  the  business  in  a formal 
speech  which  promised  to  be  of  some  length,  and  displayed  the  style 
admired  in  his  town  council.  The  honorary  secretary,  Mr.  Crewell, 
mildly  interposed.  Mr.  Cutts  stopped  and  bent  down  to  listen.  Mr. 
Crewell  explained  that  it  was  not  the  habit  of  the  club  to  make  formal 
speeches.  The  proceedings  were  usually  conversational,  each  member 
giving  his  or  her  opinion  in  turn,  and  remaining  seated  while  speaking. 

“Oh,  indeed!  that’s  your  way  here!”  Mr.  Cutts  observed.  “All 
right.  It  don’t  seem  to  me  a good  plan;  ” but  he  stopped  his  speech 
abruptly  and  submitted  to  the  queer  ways  of  London. 

“ IV r haps  I may  be  allowed  to  say,  for  the  information  of  new 
members  of  the  dub,  and  our  chairman  among  the  rest,”  the  honorary 
secretary  blandly  observed,  “ that  it  is  usual  on  such  an  occasion  as 
this — I mean  aft^r  a general  election,  or  during  an  important  political 
crisis — to  ask  if  there  is  any  member  who  has  any  reason  to  believe 
that  he  or  any  other  member,  also  a member  of  Parliament,  is  likely 
soon  to  cease  to  belong  to  the  club.  Of  course  we  do  not  expect  indis- 


THE  PROGRESSIVE  CLUB . 


215 

creet  disclosures ; but  where  a disclosure  may  be  properly  made,  I 
think  I am  warranted  in  saying  that  the  club  would  be  pleased  to 
receive  it  at  the  earliest  possible  moment — in  fact,  that  one  ol  the 
objects  of  the  club  is  the  elucidation  of  political  problems  by  means  ol 
such  informal  disclosures.  Of  course,  if  confidence  is  desired,  confi- 
dence will  be  absolutely  preserved.” 

There  was  a general  cry  of  “ Hear  hear,”  and  all  eyes  were  turned 
on  Morse. 

“ We  expect  our  chief  to  give  us  some  information,”  sa'd  Lady 
Deveril  softly,  but  yet  in  a tone  which  was  distinctly  heard  all  over 
the  table,  and  she  turned  her  soft  and  sentimental  eyes  upon  the  hero 
of  the  moment. 

There  was  a pause ; a general  silence ; a straining  of  anxiety. 
Morse  looked  suddenly  up  and  saw  that  every  gaze  was  fixed  on  him. 
“ Ladies  and  gentlemen,”  he  began,  with  a smile 

“Now  for  it,”  Lord  Albert  murmured,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  in 
anticipation  of  the  happy  moment  when  he  should  be  invited  to 
become  Under-Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs  with  his  chief  in  the 
House  of  Lords  ; when  he  should,  in  fact,  be  master  of  the  situation. 

“Of  course,”  Morse  went  on,  “I  can’t  affect  to  misund-  rstand  the 
meaning  of  what  our  friend,  Mr.  Crewell,  has  just  said.  I am  all  the 
better  able  to  understand  it,  because  I had  once  before  the  same  sort 
of  appeal  made  to  me  in  this  club.”  Cries  of  “Hear,  hear,”  and  loud 
applause.  “ Then  I answered  the  appeal  in  one  way  ; now  I have  to 
answer  it  in  another.” 

“In  another!”  The  words  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth.  There  was 
a hush  of  breathless  anxiety  and  expectation.  Lady  Deveril’s  face 
grew  pale  and  full  of  consternation.  Even  Lady  Constance  Arklow, 
follower  though  she  was  of  Masterson,  wrinkled  up  her  brows  in  a 
disturbed  manner.  The  editor  tried  to  look  unconcerned.  Fatner  St. 
Maurice  looked  deeply  interested.  The  man  who  made  speeches  on 
universal  disarmament  smiled  benignly.  Perhaps  with  that  exception, 
in  spite  of  all  acknowledged  principles,  there  was  not  a person  present 
who  had  not  in  his  or  her  heart  hoped  that  Morse  would  seize  the 
opportunity  made  for  him.  All  had  expected  some  sort  of  diplomatic 
avowal  of  a change  of  front  on  the  part  of  the  Radical  leader  - refer- 
ence to  new  elements  set  in  motion  by  the  elections;  the  altered 
aspect  of  the  situation  ; the  true  statesmanlike  duty  of  yielding  to  the 
wish  of  a people  constitutionally  expressed,  an  allusion  to  Lord  Pal- 
merston’s change  of  attitude,  or  Mr.  Gladstone’s,  or  somebody’s,  as  a 
precedent  and  justification  for  a like  proceeding  on  the  part  of  a states- 
man now. 

“ At  that  time,”  Morse  continued,  “ I had  to  say  that  I was  about 
to  become  a member  of  an  Administration  then  being  formed.  Now  I 
have  to  say  that  I have  no  such  intention.  I hope  the  club  will  not 
be  sorry  to  hear  that  I continue  to  be  one  of  its  members.  As  things 
now  stand,  it  is  absolutely  impossible  that  I could  take  any  part  in 
the  government  of  this  country.  I believe,  and  I say  it  with  the 


216 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


deepest  regret,  that  no  Ministry  could  stand  just  now  which  did  not 
yield  to  the  demand  for  war;  and  I will  not  yield  to  that  demand. 
Nothing  on  earth  shall  change  my  resolve;  and  therefore  I am  glad,” 
he  said,  with  a smile,  “ to  he  able  to  announce  that  I shall  continue 
to  be  a member  of  the  Progressive  Club.” 

The  advocate  of  peace  jumped  from  his  chair,  ran  round  to  Morse, 
and  literally  embraced  him,  and  then  burst  into  tears  of  sincere 
delight — the  tears  of  the  enthusiast. 

But  a shadow  fell  upon  the  soul  of  Lord  Albert  Folger,  and  the  face 
of  Mr.  Sinclair  was  dark.  Mr.  Cutts  gasped  several  times,  but  could 
find  nothing  to  say.  His  astonishment  beggared  words. 

“ He  may  be  wrong  in  his  decision,”  St.  Maurice  said ; “ but  he  is — 
a man.” 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

“but  my  children?” 

The  newspapers  came  out  the  morning  after  Morse’s  explanation  at 
the  Progressive  Club  without  a word  or  hint  of  the  news.  To  be 
sure,  Lord  Albert  Folger,  who  was  great  on  giving  straight  tips  to 
his  favourite  journals  generally,  had  gone  direct  to  the  Sunday  even- 
ing meeting  of  the  Universe  Club,  but  then  he  had  taken  care  not  to 
let  the  story  get  out  there.  He  still  thought  it  well  to  cling  to 
Morse’s  fortunes;  and  he  was  not  without  a hope  that  Morse  might 
even  yet  be  led  to  reconsider  his  determination.  To  Lord  Albert  it 
seemed  well-nigh  impossible  that  a man  so  near  the  summit  of  an 
Englishman’s  ambition  should  thus  clip  Elysium  and  lack  his  joy  on 
a mere  scruple  about  a war.  The  less  said,  therefore,  for  the  present 
about  Morse’s  resolve  the  better.  Morse  must  not  be  committed  too 
soon ; and  so  Lord  Albert  kept  his  news  to  himself.  The  news  had 
dashed  him,  but  he  was  not  yet  in  despair,  or  even  quite  despondent. 

“Queen  sent  for  Morse  yet,  Folger?”  Colonel  Merriman  asked, 
with  an  air  of  marvellously  artificial  ease  and  carelessness.  Colonel 
Merriman  was  supposed  to  be  a contributor  to  a morning  paper,  and 
was  always  on  the  look-out  for  straight  tips. 

“Not  yet,”  was  Lord  Albert’s  answer,  given  in  a mysterious  whisper 
and  with  a diplomatic  glance  around,  as  if  to  see  if  any  one  was 
watching  them. 

“But  she  will,  of  course?” 

“ My  dear  Merriman,  she  hasn’t  told  me  anything  about  it.  She 
hasn’t  sent  for  me.” 

" I see,  I see.”  And  Colonel  Merriman  went  off,  satisfied  that  Lord 
Albert  knew  all  about  it,  and  was  only  making  a confounded  mystery 
of  what  might  as  well  be  told  firs*t  as  last.  So  he  went  down  to  his 
newspaper  office  and  imparted  the  news  that  it  was  all  right  about 
Morse.  No  other  member  of  the  Progressive  Club  wett  ary  where  but 


“BUT  MY  CHILDREN f 


217 


to  his  home  after  the  proceedings  at  the  dinner  had  come  to  an  end, 
and  thus  it  happened  that  London  learned  nothing  next  morning 
about  the  determination  of  the  Radical  leader  not  to  take  office,  and 
not  to  tolerate  a policy  of  war. 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  news  began  to  get  about.  Some  of  the 
members  of  the  Progressive  Club  telegraphed  the  story  early  in  the 
morning  to  friends  and  constituents  in  the  country,  and  so  it  happened 
that  it  got  into  the  second  editions  of  some  provincial  papers  before  it 
was  announced  in  any  London  journal.  The  London  evening  papers, 
in  fact,  gave  it  currency  only  on  the  faith  of  a telegram  from  some 
provincial  correspondents,  and  guarded  themselves  against  guarantee- 
ing its  accuracy  on  the  ground  that  there  was  not  time  to  make 
inquiry  in  what  was  called  “ the  proper  quarter.” 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  news  did.  not  quickly  reach  Koorali’s 
ears.  But  it  would  not  have  been  news  to  her  in  any  case.  From 
what  people  told  her,  and  from  what  she  could  read  in  the  newspapers, 
it  was  evident  that  the  voice  of  the  majority  was  for  war,  and  she  well 
knew  that  to  such  a demand  Morse  would  not  yield.  She  knew  her 
hero,  she  thought;  and  she  was  proud  of  him  ; proud,  in  advance,  of 
his  resolve.  She  was  proud  of  having  been  sometimes  admitted  to  his 
confidence ; proud  of  having  been  allowed,  though  even  only  once  or 
twice  and  by  glimpses,  to  look  into  his  heart ; proud  to  have  been  in 
sympathy,  to  be  still  in  sympathy  with  him.  “ He  will  forget  me 
in  all  this,”  she  sometimes  thought.  “ So  much  the  better,”  she  told 
herself. 

Crichton  came  back  to  London  late  that  evening.  He  was  in  a 
state  of  irritation  and  repressed  excitement,.  He  had  heard  a rumour 
that  Morse  had  announced  his  intentions  at  the  dinner  of  the  Pro- 
gressive Club.  He  had  heard  the  disturbing  rumour  in  the  hunting- 
field,  and  he  had  come  up  to  town  after  a long,  unsatisfactory  day  on 
purpose  to  see  what  truth  there  was  in  it. 

Koorali  had  finished  her  lonely  dinner,  and  was  lingering  over  the 
dining-room  fire  reading  a morning  paper  in  which  there  was  a leading 
article  about  Morse.  She  was  thiuking,  with  an  ache  at  her  heart,  of 
Morse  and  of  Lady  Betty. 

Crichton  came  in  like  a gust  of  harsh  wind  from  outside.  He  met 
Koorali’s  regrets  about  the  poor  preparation  for  any  tolerable  dinner 
wiih  a gesture  of  impatience. 

“Oh,  never  mind.  I ought  to  have  telegraphed.  Anything  will 
do.  It  was  a beastly  day’s  hunting ; no  scent.  I hear  Morse  is  in 
town.  Have  you  seen  him  to-day  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  Koorali. 

Crichton  looked  at  her  keenly,  but  asked  no  further  questions.  He 
read  his  letrers,  and  began  to  eat  his  hastily  prepared  dinner.  “ Well,” 
he  said,  “ there  seems  to  be  nothing  but  bad  news  and  duns.” 

“What  bad  news?”  asked  Koorali  vacantly.  She  was  always 
hearing  bad  news. 

“Oh,  Clumper  wants  money,  and  Bonhote  writes  that  he  won’t 

15 


2lS 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


come  to  dinner.  What  the  deuce  is  this  flavoured  with?  Ask  th< 
cook  if  she  has  nothing  better  for  me  to  eat  than  stuff  like  this?” 

The  servant  went  out.  Koorali  inquired  if  Crichton  had  seen 
Zen. 

“ Zen  is  making  a fool  of  herself  over  her  village  entertainments 
and  poor  men’s  club.  Every  one  can  see  that  Arden,  not  philan- 
thropy, is  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  What  an  idiot  she  is  to  think  that 
Arden  could  be  taken  by  a woman  like  her!  Eustace  and  she  have 
fallen  out,  and  he  has  gone  over  to  Paris  by  himself.” 

Koorali  would  have  liked  to  know  more,  but  Crichton  was  absorbed 
in  the  cook’s  new  concoction,  and  was  in  a gruff,  uncommunicative 
mood.  When  he  had  finished  he  got  up,  not  lingering  as  was  his 
wont  over  the  wine. 

“ I’m  going  to  the  club,”  he  said,  “ just  to  hear  the  news.  Don’t  go 
to  bed  till  I come  back.  I shan’t  be  long.  And  I want  to  talk  to  you. 
It’s  time  we  knew  what  we  were  about.” 

Koorali  understood  his  ways,  and  knew  quite  well  that  he  had  heard 
something  or  suspected  something  which  he  did  not  choose  to  tell  her 
as  yet.  It  was  something  disagreeable  to  him,  that  was  plain,  and  at 
the  same  time  something  in  which  he  supposed  her  to  be  directly  or 
indirectly  concerned ; something  for  which  she  was  to  receive  blame. 
About  that  she  was  quite  clear.  It  occurred  to  her  now  and  then,  in 
a dismally  humorous  way,  that  Crichton  would  be  disappointed  some- 
times if  anything  in  which  she  was  concerned  went  quite  well,  and 
left  him  no  excuse  for  finding  fault  with  her.  So  much  of  self-sacrifice 
is  there  left,  even  in  the  very  selfish,  that  many  a man  would  posi- 
tively rather  things  went  wrong  and  gave  him  a chance  of  scolding 
his  wife,  ihan  that  they  went  right  and  afforded  him  no  such  oppor- 
tunity. This  is  a fact  whereon  a certain  school  of  thinkers,  who 
believe  that  man  is  concerned  only  for  his  practical  personal  interests, 
would  do  well  to  ponder  deeply.  For,  after  all,  it  surely  cannot  be 
but  that  there  are  men  who  would  rather  forfeit  some  personal  advan- 
tage than  imperil  a great  cause,  seeing  that  there  are  undoubtedly 
men  who  w’ould  now  and  then  willingly  sacrifice  a personal  comfo:t 
or  acquisition  for  the  sake  of  being  able  to  grumble  at  their  wives,  and 
say,  “I  told  you  so;  you  ought  to  have  done  this;  you  ought  not  to 
have  done  that;  it  was  all  your  fault;  you  never  will  be  persuaded  10 
follow  my  advice  and  my  instructions.” 

Koorkli  sat  thinking  of  such  things  in  a half-satirical,  half-melan- 
choly mood.  It  is  a trial  for  a wile  to  be  misprized  by  the  one  who 
should  most  appreciate  her ; but  how  much  harder  a trial,  a temptation, 
to  be  misprized  by  that  one  and  only  too  highly  prized  by  some 
other?  Koorali  looked  into  the  embers  of  the  fire  as  she  sat  and 
thought;  and  there  she  seemed  to  see  her  early  Australian  life  pass 
like  a moving  picture  before  her.  She  saw  her  youth,  her  hopes  ; she 
saw  the  grey  dawn  and  Morse;  and  the  fire  collapsed  with  a little 
crash,  and  Kooiali  gave  an  audible  sob.  She  roused  herself  up, 
ashamed  of  her  moment  of  weakness,  and  she  went  to  the  window 


“BUT  MY  CHILDREN t " 219 

and  tried  to  look  out  upon  the  night.  Suddenly  the  postman’s  ring 
sounded.  The  letter  which  was  handed  to  Koorali  bore  the  South 
Britain  stamp.  It  was  in  Mr.  Middlemist's  handwriting,  and  it  had  a 
deep  mourning  border. 

Who  was  dead?  KoorMi  wondered  at  first,  in  a dazed  apathetic 
way.  She  did  not  feel  any  thrill  of  terror.  Everything  seemed  to 
matter  little  now.  After  a few  moments,  she  suddenly  came  to  know 
by  a sort  of  instinct,  even  before  she  had  read  the  flimsy  pages, 
that  it  was  her  stepmother  who  had  died.  Mr.  Middlemist  wrote 
forlornly.  For  the  third  time  he  was  alone.  The  better  and  tenderer 
nature  of  the  man  shone  out  under  the  influence  of  grief.  Koorali 
was  deeply  touched.  There  was  something  pathetic  in  the  appeal  to 
her  which  the  letter  conveyed;  in  the  hinted  remorse  for  past  neglect. 
Hers  was  a sympathy  which  took  fire  readily.  Mr.  Middlemist  sug- 
gested that  he  might  find  consolation  for  his  declining  years  in  the 
companionship  of  his  only  daughter  and  his  grandsons.  He  wished 
it  were  possible  for  them  to  make  his  home  theirs.  He  wrote  in  the 
full  belief  that  Crichton,  having  lost  his  appointment,  would  shortly 
return  to  South  Britain.  He  had  heard  nothing  of  Crichton’s  ambitious 
schemes. 

Koorali  sat  for  a long  time  over  the  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  with 
the  letter  in  her  hand.  A wild  palpitating  hope  rose  within  her  like 
that  which  might  be  felt  by  some  storm-tossed  seaman  who  fancies 
that  he  sees  land  upon  the  horizon.  Oh,  if  Crichton  would  but  allow 
her  to  go  back  again  to  her  father,  to  take  her  boys  to  South  Britain, 
and  bring  them  up  there  to  work  for  themselves,  to  be  brave,  manly, 
self-reliant! 

Koorali  told  herself  that  she  no  longer  craved  for  joy  in  life.  She 
had  outgrown  her  time;  she  had  outworn  her  illusions.  There  was 
nothing  left  for  her  but  duty.  Her  spirits  and  nerves  were  broken, 
and  she  only  asked  for  rest.  She  honestly  wished  to  escape  from  all 
chance  of  meeting  Morse,  and  from  that  terribly  false  position  which 
made  her  home-life  so  difficult.  She  had  put  aside  her  dream  of  love 
as  one  bound  to  the  working-day  world  must  turn  perforce  from 
visions  of  an  impossible  heaven  on  earth.  She  feared  for  her  strength 
to  bear  against  the  hourly  fret  of  her  chains,  the  constant  oppression 
of  that  misfortune  which  had  befallen  her.  She  saw  herself,  as  years 
went  on,  hardened,  hopeless,  querulous,  perhaps  ungracious  to  her 
children,  deteriorated  in  moral  fibre.  For  was  it  not  inevitable  that 
her  standard  should  become  lowered  ? Must  she  not  in  time  sink  to 
Crichton’s  level,  lower  herself  for  very  peace  sake,  and  lose  touch  of 
high  and  noble  purpose  ? Could  there  be  any  worse  wrong  V Oh, 
where  was  the  right,  and  where  the  wrong? 

Koorali  pressed  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  Her  brain  was  deadened. 
Her  obligation  seemed  narrowed  down  to  a measure  of  maternal  duty, 
and  beyond  that  there  was  no  horizon.  This  crave  for  liberty,  to  live 
alone  with  her  children,  was  possessing  her.  It  consumed  her  like  a 
passion.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  endure  these  daily  hypocrisies — 


220  “ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  ” 

could  not  live  in  conventional  intercourse  with  Morse  and  Lady  Betty, 
conscious  all  the  time  of  that  degrading  half-understanding  between 
herself  and  her  husband. 

Sne  was  still  sitting  with  her  forehead  bent  down  upon  her  hands, 
when  Crichton  returned.  He  came  in  boisterously,  and  she  gave  a 
great  start  and  rose  in  a frightened  way  from  her  chair  as  he  closed 
the  door  behind  him  and  approached  her.  She  had  let  her  thoughts 
go  wandering  away  to  Muttabarra,  to  the  Pilot  Station,  to  that  lone 
stretch  of  Australian  coast  which  she  saw  as  distinctly  as  though  she 
were  looking  at  a picture.  Crichton’s  entrance  was  like  the  renewed 
pressure  of  an  incubus  that  had  been  thrown  off  for  a little  while. 
After  breathing  free  air,  she  seemed  again  stifled. 

“Your  Iriend  Morse  has  ruined  the  finest  chances  a man  ever  had 
in  his  hands,”  Kenway  exclaimed  fiercely,  without  any  preliminary 
explanation.  “He  has  flung  away,”  he  added  with  a furious  oath, 
“the  fortunes  of  a whole  paity.  He  will  never  recover  this;  he’s 
gone;  he’s  ruined — and,  confound  him,  he  has  ruined  me  too!” 

Koorali  drew  a deep  breath;  but  she  did  not  at  once  realize  what 
he  meant;  she  was  not  seriously  discomposed.  Crichton  Kenway,  in 
a fit  of  anger,  was  to  her  a tolerably  familiar  spectacle:  and  his  fits  of 
anger  might  as  well  be  about  trifles  as  about  serious  things.  The  ruin 
of  a i arty  or  the  overdoing  of  a steak — what  did  it  matter  ? 

“ What  has  happened?”  she  asked. 

“ Don’t  play  the  innocent.  Hasn’t  he  told  you  ? ” 

“ As  I said  before,  I have  not  seen  Mr.  Morse  to-day — or  for  many 
days.” 

“ But  didn’t  he  prepare  you  for  this?  Doesn’t  he  write  to  you? 
Oh,  I know ! Come,  out  with  it.  Did  he  not  tell  you  ; didn’t  he  ask 
your  philosophical  and  virtuous  advice  ? Are  you  not  his  Egeria  and 
1 don’t  know  what  ail  ? Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  yon  really  know 
nothing  of  all  this  ? By  God,  I don’t  believe  you ! ” 

Koorali  looked  at  him  with  more  serious  questioning.  He  had  come 
close  to  her,  and  she  shrank  from  him,  not  because  of  fear  so  much  as 
because  of  repugnance.  Tnere  was  a repressed  fury  in  Crichton’s  eyes 
and  tone  which  did  almost  frighten  her,  in  spite  of  the  contempt  for 
his  tragic  moods  which  experience  had  taught  her. 

“ You  see,  Crichton,  you  have  not  given  me  a chance  of  knowing 
whether  Mr.  Morse  did  consult  me  or  didn’t,”  she  said,  in  that  cold 
clear  voice  which  had  the  double  effect  of  outwardly  calming  and 
inwardly  incensing  her  husband.  “ l have  no  idea  of  what  you  are 
speaking.  Will  you  tell  me  first?  You  can  be  angry  with  me  after — 
or  disbelieve  me.” 

Crichton  glared  at  her  savagely.  But  he  gulped  down  his  wrath 
somehow,  and  sat  himself  to  explain  in  short,  curt  sentences. 

“ Morse  has  refused  to  form  a Ministry.  He  gave  it  out  last  night 
at  the  Progressive  Club.  All  London  is  talking  of  it.  There’s  not  a 
doubt  that  we  shall  have  war — more  aggressions  are  telegraphed  in  the 
papers  this  evening.  A Cabinet  council  is  called.  Not  an  English- 


"BUT  MY  CHILDREN f 


221 


man  with  the  spirit  of  a mouse  but  will  stand  up  for  war,  and  Morse 
sticks  to  Ids  cowardly,  pig-headed  obstinacy.” 

“Oh,  that  is  all,”  Koorali  said  quietly;  but  she  reared  her  little 
frame  with  a gesture  that  implied  she  was  on  the  defensive.  “ Yes, 
Crichton,  I knew  he  would  do  that ; he  told  me.  But  he  also  told  you 
and  many  other  people,  didn’t  he?  I heard  him  say  it  the  very  tirst 
day  we  ever  dined  at  Lady  Betty’s.  He  spoke  then  so  strongly 
against  the  idea  of  a war  that,  of  course,  I knew  he  wrould  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  has  been  denouncing  it,  working  hard 
against  it  ever  since  ; and  he  always  told  me  he  did  not  think  it  would 
be  possible  for  any  man  to  form  a Government  now  who  set  himself 
against  the  war.” 

“Stuff!  Things  hadn’t  gone  so  far  then.  That  was  before  the 
elections;  before  he  had  the  chance  of  being  Prime  Minister.  Public 
men  always  say  that  sort  of  thing  when  they  are  not  in  power.  No 
one  expects  them  to  keep  to  it  when  they  get  the  chance  of  office.” 

“ Then  did  you  really  believe  Mr.  Morse  was  a man  who  cared  about 
office,  or  would  sacrifice  his  own  convictions  and  principles  to  it?  For 
a man  of  the  world,  Crichton,  I don’t  think  you  read  men’s  character 
very  well.  I have  not  spoken  much  to  Mr.  Morse  lately  about  this, 
but  of  course  I knew  that  he  would  not  take  office,  if  taking  office  were 
to  mean  carrying  on  this  war.”  • 

“ A man  owes  something  to  his  party,”  Kenway  said  sulkily. 

“A  man  owes  something  to  his  principles  and  to  himself;  and 
Mr.  Morse  is  a man  to  pay  his  debts  of  honour  of  that  kind,”  answered 
Koorali  steadily.  “Crichton,  I am  glad  ; yes — I am  glad — and  I will 
say  it ; but  I am  not  surprised.” 

“ Perhaps  it  might  throw  a little  damp  on  the  fire  of  your  joy,” 
Kenway  said  angrily,  “ if  you  knew  that  your  heroic  friend’s  virtuous 
resolve  is  the  ruin  of  your  husband.”  And  Crichton  sat  down  with 
a look  of  despair.  Indeed,  there  was  unmistakable  sincerity  in  that 
look.  Koorali  was  touched  and  alarmed  by  it. 

“ Crichton,  do  tell  me,”  she  said,  coming  up  to  him  and  laying 
a kindly  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  “ Has  any  fresh  thing  happened  ; 
and  why  is  this  your  ruin  ? Our  affairs  are  in  a better  state  now  than 
they  were  three  months  ago,  when  I begged  you  to  accept  the  appoint- 
ment Lord  Coulmont  offered.” 

Koorali  had  almost  become  accustomed  to  hearing  of  their  ruin, 
finding  that  nothing  in  particular  came  of  it  but  that  matters  went  on 
very  much  the  same  as  before.  She  did  not  know  the  real  depth  of 
Crichton’s  embarrassments,  and  believed  that,  thanks  to  old  Mrs. 
Nevile- Beauchamp’s  legacy,  this  crisis,  like  others,  had  been  tided 
over.  She  did  not  realize  either  how  rooted  was  Crichton’s  determina- 
tion to  carve  out  a career  for  himself  in  England. 

“Where  am  I to  get  an  appointment  now?  Whom  have  I to  look 
to  ? ” cried  Crichton,  in  a sort  of  angry  wail.  “ I pinned  my  faith  on 
him  altogether ; 1 put  all  my  eggs  in  one  basket ; I have  made  enemiesi 
everywhere  by  sticking  to  him;  I have  publicly  committed  myself  tq 


222 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE J 


his  policy;  and  now  he  throws  me  over!  I have  gone  int6  debt;  1 
have  been  raising  money  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  on  the  certainty 
of  his  getting  me  a permanent  appointment;  and  now  where  am  1? 
He  has  thrown  me  over;  ruined  me;  ruined  me!”  Kenway  jumped 
up  again,  and  began  pacing  wildly  up  and  down  the  room. 

“But  Crichton,  Crichton,”  said  KoorMi,  her  instinct  of  sympathy 
turned  back  again,  “you  surely  could  not  expect  Mr.  Morse  to  carry 
on  a wer  which  he  believes  to  be  wicked  merely  to  enable  him  to  get 
appointments  for  his  friends?  I am  very,  very  sorry;  but  I am  sure 
1 would  rather  starve  than  think  of  any  man  making  such  a sacrifice 
oi  principle.” 

“ Starve!  Oh ,you  won’t  starve  ; he  won’t  let  you  starve  ; you  will 
be  right  enough,”  Kenway  said  brutally.  His  words  hurt  KoorMi  as 
the  stroke  of  a whip  might  have  done.  She  flushed  for  an  instant,  and 
then  she  turned  very  white  ; but  she  was  determined  to  keep  her  self- 
control,  and  not  to  give  her  infuriated  husband  any  excuse  for  insulting 
her.  She  did  not  reply  for  a few  moments.  When  she  answered,  it 
annoyed  him  that  she  completely  ignored  his  remark. 

“You  have  many  friends,  Crichton;  and  you  have  talents.  You 
cannot  want  the  means  and  opportunities  of  making  a living  in  a place 
like  London ; and  there  is  always  the  alternative  of  going  back  to 
South  Britain.” 

“ That  might  suit  you.  It  would  only  be  going  back  to  what  you 
sprang  from.  But  I’ve  had  rather  too  strong  a dose  of  South  Britain. 
I should  be  a happier  man  if  I had  never  set  foot  in  South  Britain.” 
His  look,  fixed  on  her,  pointed  the  allusion. 

A passionate  entreaty  rose  to  her  lips — “ Let  me  go  back,  then,  to 
what  I sprang  from,  and  let  us  be  free  of  each  other  ; ” but  she  did  not 
utter  it.  She  was  determined  to  say  nothing  unguarded  or  impetuous. 
The  proposal  which  was  shaping  itself  in  her  mind  must  be  made 
calmly  and  reasonably.  Her  only  chance  of  haying  it  accepted  would 
lie,  she  knew,  in  its  appeal  to  Crichton’s  self-interest.  He  might  think 
it  better  for  himself  to  be  rid  of  her  and  her  children.  No;  he  would 
never  let  Lance  uo.  He  might  give  her  Miles.  Would  he  give  her 
Miles?  Could  she  leave  Lance?  The  questions  and  answers  balanced 
each  other  in  her  mind,  repeating  themselves  over  and  over  again,  so 
that  she  hardly  heard  Crichton  as  he  went  on — 

“Make  a living  for  myself!  Yes;  I dare  say.  I can  write  for  the 
newspapers.  1 can  do  penny-a-lining  perhaps.  That  isn’t  quite  the 
sort  of  thing  I wanted.  I wanted  to  be  a gentleman,  and  to  be  able 
to  live  like  one.  Fancy  how  my  confounded  family  will  laugh  when 
they  hear  of  all  this  ! I don’t  wonder,  I am  sure.  I have  been 
making  a confounded  fool  of  myself,  trusting  to  that  man — yes  ; and 
to  you.  Do  you  hear  ? ” 

KoorMi  started,  recalled  from  that  bewildering  process  of  weighing 
possibilities.  “Do  you  really  believe,”  she  said  coldly,  “that  Mr. 
Morse  would  have  taken  office  if  I had  advised  him ; if  I had  been 
mean  and  false  enough  to  advise  him?  Do  you  think  he  is  a man  to 


“BUT  MY  CHILDREN? 


223 


be  put  into  loading-strings  in  that  way  by  any  woman  ? Do  you 
think  his  wife  did  not  urge  him  enough  to  put  himself  on  the  side  of 
the  Court  and  of  her  class  ? ” 

“A  man  doesn't  care  about  his  wife’s  advice,”  Ken  way  said  coarsely. 
K It’s  quite  a different  thing  about  the  advice  of  another  mail’s  wife.” 
He  laughed  cynically. 

“ He  wouldn't  have  taken  my  advice  to  that  effect,”  she  said;  “and 
I would  not  have  iriven  him  such  advice.” 

There  was  a little  silence.  She  half  expected  that  Crichton  would 
refer  back  to  their  last  conversation  on  the  subject,  in  Zen’s  house — 
the  conversation  which  was  burnt  for  ever  into  her  memory.  He  had 
forgotten  it  apparently,  and  had  taken  her  indignant  protests  as  mean- 
ing nothing.  He  had  gone  on  believing  that  he  could  still  make  use 
of  her  as  a bait,  even  after  that  appeal  to  him  which  it  had  cost  her 
so  much  to  make.  Her  breast  heaved  with  the  sense  of  utter  loneliness. 
But  she  held  herself  in,  and  after  a moment  caught  at  this  want  of 
comprehension  of  her  as  a plea  for  superficial  dealing.  She  went  on 
in  a frozen  way — 

“ You  rather  overrate  Mr.  Morse’s  opinion  of  my  intellect  and  my 
capacity  for  advising  statesmen,  Crichton.” 

“ I wasn’t  saying  anything  about  your  intellect,  Koorali.  Perhaps, 
if  it  comes  to  that,  I have  no  mighty  high  opinion  of  it  mvseif.  It 
isn’t  by  their  intellect  that  women  govern  men.  Look  at  Lady  Maud 
and  Lord  Paddington.  She  hasn’t  very  much  intellect ; she  has  hardly 
a trace  of  good  looks  left;  she  is  twenty  years  older  than  you;  and 
she  can  turn  him  round  her  finger!  By  Jove,  I wish  I knew  her. 
She  would  be  more  use  to  me  than  you  are.” 

“ I wish  you  did  know  her,  Crichton  ; I can  be  of  no  use  to  you  in 
the  way  of  obtaining  appointments.  It  might  have  spared  you  dis- 
appointment if  you  had  believed  me  in  (arnest  when  I said  this  before. 
I think  it  is  cruel  and  shameful  of  you  to  speak  in  that  way.”  Her 
determination  not  to  see  that  she  was  insulted  began  to  break  down. 

“ You  know  what  I mean,  perfectly  well,”  he  said.  “ You  know 
I don’t  mean  anything  wrong.  You  know  1 would  cut  your  throat  if 
I thought  \ou  were  capable  of  anything  wrong.  But  I don’t;  luckily 
for  you.  That  isn’t  your  line.  By  Jove,  you  haven’t  feeling  enough 
for  it,  I verily  believe.  But  there  is  influence  which  a wife,  who  is 
anything  of  a decent  ‘pal’  to  her  husband,  may  lairly  use  for  his 
advantage,  without  giving  occasion  for  the  slightest  whisper  or  breath 
of  scandal.  Well,  you  didn’t  use  it  anyhow.  Alter  nil,  I don’t  suppose 
you  really  had  any  influence  over  Morse.  I suppose  he  meant  not  ting 
all  the  time.”  Crichton  laughed  jeerin  jy.  “ After  all,  that  is  more 
likely  than  that  the  Farnesia  business  was  a plant  to  get  me  out  of 
the  way.  You  were  quite  right,  I did  give  you  credit  for  too  much 
cleverness.” 

“ Mr.  Morse  is  a gentleman,  and  a man  of  honour,”  Koorali  said  in 
her  quietest  tone.  She  was  recovering  her  self-possession.  She 
despised  the  man  too  much  to  feel  the  sting  of  his  senseless  insults. 


224  “THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE." 

She  was  only  anxious  now  to  bring  this  odious  scene  to  a close  as  soon 
as  possible. 

“ l don’t  call  it  the  part  of  a gentleman  and  a man  of  honour  to 
ruin  the  prospects  of  the  party  and  the  friends  who  trusted  to  him  for 
a mere  absurd  scruple.  No  matter;  others  may  be  ruined  too.  Let 
him  see  whether  two  can’t  play  at  that  game  of  ruining.  I may  have 
my  chance  of  revenge  on  your  dear  and  scrupulous  friend,  Koorali ; 
and  see  if  I don’t  make  good  use  of  it,  that's  all.  Your  highly  esteemed 
Morse  may  find  out  to  his  cost  some  day  that  there  are  men  whom  he 
has  injured  and  who  can  repay.” 

Koorali  did  not  at  the  moment  pay  much  attention  to  these  words 
of  her  husband’s.  It  did  not  seem  possible  to  her  that  he  could  have 
any  real  purpose  or  means  of  injuring  Morse.  It  was  a common  thing 
with  him  to  console  himself  under  imaginary  wrong  by  hinting  at  dark 
and  mysterious  schemes  of  vengeance,  and  Koorali  had  always  seen 
that  the  threatened  men  and  women  lived  long.  Probably  Kenway 
saw  the  meaning  of  her  expression. 

“You  think  I can  do  nothing,”  he  said,  with  a fierce  laugh;  “just 
you  wait  and  see.  I can  hit  your  friend  Morse  where  he  will  feel  it. 
You  shall  see  before  long.  Mind — it  is  I who  am  in  earnest  now. 
You  wouldn’t  help  me,  and  you  shall  see  what  I can  do.  Tell  Morse 
so  if  you  like,  when  you  confab  with  him  next.” 

“ May  I go  now  ? ” Koorali  asked.  “ Do  you  want  me  any  more  ? ” 

“You  may  go,”  he  answered  fiercely,  “where  you  please.  The 
further  the  better.”  Then  he  turned  to  leave  the  room.  He  stopped 
at  the  door,  and  said,  “ I am  going  out  again,  and  I am  off  by  an  early 
train  to-morrow.  If  anything  turns  up  that  I ought  to  know,  or  any 
one  wants  to  see  me  that  I ought  to  see,  you  can  telegraph  to  me  at 
the  Grey  Manor.” 

It  was  curious  that,  with  all  his  unmeaning  wrath  against  her  and 
his  brutal  insults,  Crichton  Kenway  assumed  and  knew  perfectly  welL 
that  she  would  look  after  his  interests  faithfully  and  obey  all  his 
reasonable  commands.  He  knew  that  he  could  trust  his  life  in  her  hands, 
even  though  he  made  her  feel  hour  after  hour  the  degradation  of  her 
bondage  to  him.  He  had  no  more  doubt  of  her  absolute  purity  than 
he  had  of  her  bodily  existence.  But  he  had  a keen  idea  that  she  might, 
if  she  had  the  crait  of  other  women,  have  managed  to  secure  something 
for  him  without  any  sacrifice  of,  at  all  events,  her  physical  purity. 
Probably  he  spoke  truly  enough ; probably  he  would  have  killed  her 
if  he  believed  or  even  suspected  that  she  had  done  wrong;  but,  all  the 
same,  he  did  not  see  why  she  might  not  have  managed  to  do  something 
for  her  husband  without  doing  wrong  to  herself.  In  any  case  he  was 
now  wild  and  furious  with  Morse,  and  he  knew  no  better  way  of 
expending  his  fury  than  to  pour  it  out  on  her. 

As  he  was  going  away  Koorali’s  voice  stopped  him. 

“ Crichton.” 

He  turned  a^ain,  and  faced  her.  She  had  come  forward  to  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  stood  very  pale  and  resolute,  with  hands 


“BUT  MY  CHILDREN  t ” 225 

clapped  nervously  before  her,  and  bright  dilated  eyes  which  met  his 
with  a sort  of  steely  hardness. 

“ Well ! ” he  asked  impatiently.  “ What  are  you  looking  at  me  like 
that  for?  Have  you  anything  else  to  say?  Make  haste,  it  is  getting 
late.” 

“ I shall  not  keep  you  many  minutes,”  said  Koor&li,  with  intense 
quietness.  “I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Crichton,  which  I want 
you  to  take  seriously.  I mean  it  with  my  whole  heart.  It  is  a plan 
— a proposal.  I think  it  might  relieve  you  from  difficulty.” 

“ Well ! ” he  repeated.  “ You  are  not  usually  fertile  in  suggestions 
about  getting  me  out  of  m#  difficulties.  Let  me  hear  this  one.”, 

“You  said  just  now  that  I might  go  away — where  I pleased — the 
farther  the  better.  Did  you  really  mean  that,  Crichton?” 

“Oh,  confound  it  all,”  said  he  roughly,  “don’t  begin  talking  in  the 
air.  Fm  married  to  you,  I suppose,  and  I must  support  you ; and 
there’s  an  end  of  it.” 

“There  may  be  an  end  of  it,”  she  said,  still  with  that  extreme 
quietude;  “and  you  may  be  relieved  from  the  burden  of  supporting 
me,  if  only  you  will  agree  to  what  I ask.  Will  you  let  me  go  away, 
Crichton,  and  live  apart  from  you?  Why  should  we  keep  up  this 
mockery  of  a union?  It  seems  to  me  a most  frightful  and  unnatural 
thing  that  two  people  should  be  bound  together  for  life  who  feel  as 
you  and  I feel.  I think  you  must  almost  hate  me,  Crichton,  or  you 
could  not  speak  to  me  and  think  of  me  as  you  do ; and  I have  neither 
love  nor  respect  left  now  for  you.  It  seems  a hard  thing  to  say  ; but 
it  is  the  truth.  Will  you  let  me  go  away  ? I don’t  want  you  to  give 

me  any  money.  I want  nothing  but ” and  she  stopped  suddenly, 

for  she  dared  not  add,  “ my  children,”  lest  before  he  had  time  to  con- 
sider the  advantages  of  being  rid  of  her,  he  might  silence  her  pleading 
by  an  angry  refusal. 

“Be  good  enough  to  talk  common  sense,”  he  exclaimed.  “What 
do  you  propose  to  do  after  you  have  gone? — work  or  starve?” 

“I  will  go  back  to  South  Britain,”  she  answered. 

“And  when  you  have  got  back — I suppose  you  have  considered 
that  your  passage  will  have  to  be  paid? — do  you  intend  to  ask  your 
stepmother’s  permission  to  make  a home  with  her?  You  were  glad 
enough  to  be  out  of  your  father’s  house,  and  he  was  glad  enough  to  get 
you  off  his  hands.  I shouldn’t  think  he’d  be  so  delighted  to  take  you 
on  again.” 

“ My  stepmother  is  dead,”  said  Koorali.  “ Just  before  you  came  in, 
Crichton,  I had  been  thinking  of  this — longing  that  I might  go  away. 
I have  got  a letter  from  my  father” — she  made  a little  gesture  towards 
the  written  sheets  which  lay  upon  the  hearth-rug  near  where  she  had 
been  sitting — “he  tells  me  of  his  sorrow  and  his  loneliness,  and  he 
wishes  that  I might  be  with  him  again — I and  my  children.” 

“ Your  children ! ” cried  Crichton  savagely.  “ Are  they  not  my 
children  too  ? And  do  you  think  Fm  going  to  let  my  boys — let  Lance 
— be  brought  up  after  the  pattern  of  Mr.  Middlemist?” 


226 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


Kooiali  nervously  unclasped  her  hands,  and  then  laced  the  finders 
again  more  tightly.  Her  large  dark  eyes,  full  of  anxiety  and  earnest- 
ness, never  left  his  face;  her  heart  was  throbbing  in  great  hammer- 
beats.  It  was  as  though  her  life — more  than  life  to  her — was  at  stake. 

“ Crichton,”  she  said,  “ let  us  speak  of  this  matter  in  a gentle  spirit. 
There’s  no  use  in  saying  taunting  things.  The  children  are  yours  as 
well  as  mine.  That  is  the  most  pitiful  and  terrible  fact  in  such  a 

marriage  as  ours.  You  have  a part  right  to  them ” 

He  interrupted  her.  “ Let  me  remind  you,”  he  said,  “ that  Lance 
is  just  eight  years  old.  Miles  will  be  seven  in  a month  or  two.  The 
law  gives  me  full  right.” 

“Is  there  a mother  in  England  who  would  acknowledge  it?”  cried 
Koorali  passionately.  “What  is  your  right  compared  with  mine? 
I bore  them — I love  them.  They  are  all  the  world  to  me,  and  they 
love  me — my  poor  little  boys ! ” Koorali’s  voice  broke.  After  a 
moment  she  went  on  more  steadily.  “ 1 don’t  want  to  be  unfair, 
Crichton,  or  to  dispute  that  you  have  a right;  but  you  don’t  care 
about  the  children  as  I do.  They  are  only  playthings  to  you — hardly 
that,  for  you  are  often  impatient  even  with  Lance,  though  I know  you 
are  fond  of  him.” 

She  waited  as  if  for  him  to  speak,  but  he  kept  a sullen  silence. 

“ Haven’t  you  anything  to  say  to  me  about  our  living  apart, 
Crichton?  ” she  asked  tremulously.  “Surely  that  would  please  you 
better  than  the  miserable  life  we  lead  now ! Indeed,  I do  not  think  I 
could  live  it  for  much  longer;  it  would  kill  me.” 

She  waited  once  more.  “ Gfo  on,”  he  said  again,  “ I want  to  hear 
all  that  you  have  got  to  say.” 

“ Think  of  it,  Crichton,”  she  went  on,  her  voice  gaining  intensity, 
“think  of  what  it  has  come  to  after  all  these  years — that  I long — that 
I pray  to  be  released  from  you.  Doesn’t  that  speak  for  itself?  It 
doesn’t  matter  whose  fault  it  is,  or  why  it  is.  That’s  enough.  We 
weren’t  suited  to  each  other,  and  now  we  are  hopelessly  divided  in 
heart  and  soul.  I’m  not  excusing  myself,  Crichton,  or  putting  all  the 
blame  on  you.  I think  a different  sort  of  woman  might  have  been 
happier  with  you;  but  there’s  the  fact,  and  it’s  best  that  we  should 
part.  Don’t  let  us  quarrel,  Crichton.  Let  me  go  in  peace.” 

“ Look  here,”  exclaimed  Crichton  furiously.  “ There’s  no  use  talking 
in  this  way.  I’ll  not  consent  to  any  scandal  in  my  family;  we  are 
not  used  to  it.  If  you  go,  it’s  on  your  own  responsibility;  and  you 
don’t  come  back  again.  Mind  one  thing,”  he  added,  coming  closer  to 
her,  “ if  you  do  go,  you  don’t  take  the  children.  I hold  to  that.  You 
don’t  take  the  children.” 

“Can  you  be  so  cruel,  so  pitiless?” 

“ Don’t  you  know  me  even  yet  ? You  shall  see.” 

“Do  you  think  you  are  the  man  to  bring  up  children  well;  to  teach 
my  boys  how  to  be  men  of  honour — and  gentlemen,”  exclaimed  Kooiali 
desperately. 

“ What  do  you  know  about  gentlemen  ? There  weren’t  any  gentle* 


THE  WINTER  SESSION.  227 

men  in  your  family,  were  there  ? I never  heard  it  insinuated  that  old 
Middlemist  was  a gentleman.” 

“Will  you  let  me  take  my  boys,  Crichton,  my  sweet  little  innocent 
boys,  who  love  me?  You  don't  care  about  them;  you  don’t  care 
abo-ut  children.  Miles  is  so  delicate,  and  Lance  is  very  young  still, 
and  you  want  to  get  your  affairs  straight  and  to  live  in  London.  You 
would  be  glad — surely  you  would  be  glad  not  to  have  the  trouble  of 
them — and  of  me.  Oh,  Crichton,  if  I might  keep  them,  say — for  even 
three  years,  and  then  I would  be  reasonable.  I would  not  ask  for 
more  than  was  just.  They  would  go  to  school,  and  we  might  agree  to 
share  them.  They  might  come  to  me  at  one  time,  and  go  to  you  at 
another;  or  you  might  let  me  have  Miles  altogether — oh,  Crichton ! ” 
She  broke  down  now.  The  tears  were  gushing  from  her  eyes. 
Kenway  was  glad.  He  believed  that  he  had  conquered. 

“You’ve  had  my  answer.  It’s  no!  Nothing  will  alter  me.  I’ll 
leave  you  now  to  think  things  over,”  he  said.  “You  know  the  con- 
ditions exactly.  Go  if  you  like,  and  when  you  like ; but  when  you 
close  the  door  of  my  house  behind  you,  you  have  no  more  to  do  with 
my  children — you  shall  never  see  them  again.” 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him  with  a clang. 
Perhaps  he  was  making  the  sound  a sort  of  suggestion  to  her  of  the 
crash  that  would  come  upon  her  life  and  her  affections  when  the  door 
of  his  house  should  close  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  WINTER  SESSION. 

Parliament  was  called  together  for  a winter  session.  There  were 
troubles  in  the  air;  the  fierce  breath  of  a coming  storm  was  felt.  The 
Ministry  had  perforce  to  remain  in  office,  as  Morse  would  not  come  in, 
and  just  then  no  one  else  could.  But  they  could  not  venture  to  get  on 
without  calling  Parliament  together  and  obtaining  its  authority.  The 
great  question  was  that  of  war  or  peace.  At  first,  the  only  loud  outcry 
was  for  war.  Numbers  of  Englishmen  everywhere  were  sick  of  being 
told  that  England  could  not  fight  any  more,  except  with  unarmed 
savages;  and  they  would  have  welcomed  a war  with  any  great  power, 
for  any  purpose,  or  for  no  purpose.  The  Ministry  in  possession  felt 
that  nothing  would  strengthen  their  position  so  much  as  a popular 
war,  and  at  first  it  seemed  as  if  this  war  would  be  altogether  popular; 
but,  after  a while,  an  anti-war  party  began  to  make  its  existence 
known,  and  it  grew  more  and  more  powerful  every  day.  Perhaps  the 
Ministry  began  to  wish  now  that  they  had  not  called  Parliament 
together  that  winter,  but  had  acted  boldly  for  themselves ; had  gone 
into  the  war  at  once  and  asked  for  the  consent  of  Parliament  after- 
wards. In  no  case  had  they  any  doubt  of  a great  parliamentary 
majority  for  a war  policy ; but  they  feared  the  stirring-up  of  angry 


228 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


feeling,  and  tne  possibility  of  inconvenient  popular  demonstrations  on 
either  side  in  the  large  towns,  and  perhaps  consequent  disturbance. 
However,  the  thing  was  done  now  and  could  not  be  undone.  Parlia- 
ment was  called  together  and  everybody  came  back  to  town,  and  a 
winter  season  set  in  with  the  winter  session.  Wives  and  daughters  in 
general  liked  it. 

It  was  a tumultuous  time.  Public  passion  was  fierce  on  both  sides. 
The  advocates  of  war  were  clamorous,  and  denounced  all  who  opposed 
them  as  traitors,  enemies  to  their  country,  and  craven  slaves  of  the 
foreigner.  On  the  other  hand,  the  opponents  of  the  war  had  on  their 
side  the  vast  majority  of  the  working-men  almost  everywhere.  The 
prospect  of  work  and  wages  for  the  winter  was  bad,  and  the  artisan 
population  were  wild  at  the  thought  of  the  country’s  money  being 
squandered  at  such  a time  in  what  they  believed  to  be  an  idle  and 
wicked  war.  It  got  reported,  nobody  knew  why,  that  the  Court 
favoured  the  war,  and  were  pressing  Ministers  on  to  throw  down  the 
gauntlet  at  once,  and  this  further  stimulated  passion  on  both  sides. 
Every  evening  great  crowds  gathered  around  the  House  of  Commons 
cheering  this  or  that  member,  according  as  he  favoured  their  notions, 
and  groaning  at  others.  A large  number  of  the  street-lounging  class 
were  in  favour  of  the  war;  so  were  nearly  all  the  smaller  shopkeepers  , 
and  in  all  sections  of  ’London  life  there  is  a good  deal  of  sympathy 
with  \'hat  its  enemies  call  the  “Jingo”  feeling.  Therefore  the  crowd 
round  the  Houses  of  Parliament  was  usually  pretty  well  divided  in 
strength,  and  the  conspicuous  member  who  got  cheered  by  one  set  was 
sure  to  get  groaned  at  by  another.  It  was  found  necessary  sometimes 
to  close  all  the  great  gates,  and  Palace  Yard  was  literally’'  garrisoned 
by  police.  Every  evening  it  was  expected  that  the  Ministry  would 
announce  the  withdrawal  of  our  ambassador  and  the  declaration  of 
war.  The  tension  on  both  sides  was  unexampled  in  its  severity. 
London  seemed  to  hold  its  breath. 

Morse  was  always  greeted  with  a peculiarly  impassioned  demon- 
stration from  both  sides.  If  a spectator  standing  on  the  far  edge  of  a 
crowd,  the  eastern  verge  of  it,  were  to  hear  a tremendous  burst  of 
cheering  again  and  again  renewed,  and  suddenly  broken  in  upon  and 
divided  by  a very  thunderstorm  of  groans,  hbses,  and  ferocious  yells 
of  hate,  he  might  take  it  for  granted  that  S tndham  Morse  was  making 
his  way  into  the  House.  Morse  had  been  addressing  meeting  after 
meeting  in  London  and  in  the  provinces  to  condemn  and  denounce 
the  war  policy.  He  had  flung  himself  into  the  anti-war  movement 
with  characteristic  energy,  and  nothing  but  the  popular  force  which 
he  brought  together,  organized,  and  concentrated,  prevented  the 
Ministry  from  yielding  to  the  clamour  of  the  other  side  and  declaring 
war  at  once.  Morse  was  accepted  by  every  one  as  the  head  and  front 
of  the  anti-war  party,  which  the  working  populations  of  all  the  great 
towns  regarded  as  their  own  party. 

Masterson  was  very  active  with  his  democrats;  but  Morse  kept  aloof 
from  any  close  association  with  that  part  of  the  agitation.  We  have 


THE  WINTER  SESSION. 


22g 

already  shown  that  he  did  not  much  believe  in  cosmopolitan  associa- 
tions. He  did  not  care  much  about  the  “ solidarity  of  nations  ” and 
other  such  phrases ; he  did  not  care  about  fine  phrases  in  general.  lie 
did  not  see  how,  as  things  now  stand,  there  could  be  any  real  unity  of 
feeling  and  aim  between  continental  democracy  and  the  democracy  of 
this  country.  But  he  had  an  especial  reason  for  holding  himself  apart 
from  Masterson’ s people.  He  had  a strong  suspicion  concerning  certain 
of  the  foreign  confederates.  Those  of  them  who  belonged  to  the 
country  with  which  England  was  in  all  probability  actually  going  to 
war  seemed  to  him  especially  undesirable  associates.  He  did  not  like 
the  men  personally ; he  did  not  trust  them ; he  warned  Masterson 
against  them  repeatedly  and  emphatically.  Even  if  they  were  perfectly 
honest,  he  did  not  think  their  presence  becoming  in  an  English  meet- 
ing. “ We  don’t  understand  fellows  acting  against  their  own  country  ; 
our  people  can’t  make  it  out,”  he  told  Masterson.  Masterson  extolled 
the  noble  love  of  humanity  which  set  men  above  paltry  considerations 
of  nationality,  and  made  them  the  brothers  of  all  other  men  the  world 
over,  and  bluntly  told  Morse  that  he  was  spoiled  and  made  narrow  and 
distrustful  by  the  mean  life  of  the  House  of  Commons.  Then  Morse 
told  Masterson,  and  wrote  it  to  him  several  times,  in  order,  if  possible, 
to  impress  him  the  more,  that  he  did  not  trust  the  men  themselves ; 
that  he  believed  they  were  nothing  more  or  less  than  spies  for  some 
sinister  purpose. 

A great  meeting  was  to  take  place  in  Hyde  Park,  from  which  a 
monster  procession  was  to  march  to  Palace  Yard,  and  Morse  at  first 
was  consenting  to  be  present  at  the  meeting ; but  he  found  that  these 
very  men  were  to  be  prominent  in  it,  and  Masterson  would  not  give 
them  up;  and  Morse  therefore  wrote  to  say  he  would  not  go,  and  told 
Masterson  his  reasons.  Then  Masterson  grew  cold  towards  Morse,  and 
talked  sadly  and  with  many  shakings  of  the  head  about  the  corrupting 
influence  of  Parliament  and  the  West  End  upon  even  the  finest 
characters;  and  it  was  plain  that  he  regarded  Morse  as  “a  good  man 
gone  wrong.” 

“Her  Majesty  the  Queen  has  been  pleased  to  confer  on  Mr.  Crichton 
Kenway,  late  Agent-General  for  South  Britain,  the  appointment  of 
Governor  of  the  Farnesia  Islands.” 

So  ran  the  paragraph  in  one  of  the  morning  papers,  by  which  the 
defeat  of  Crichton  Ken  way’s  dearest  hopes  was  announced  to  the  world 
in  general.  A paragraph  in  a social  weekly  enlarged  somewhat  on  the 
information,  gave  particulars  of  Ken  way’s  career,  praised  his  abilities 
and  qualification  for  a colonial  governorship,  touched  enthusiastically 
upon  the  charms  of  his  wife,  and  deplored  the  removal  of  so  bright  a 
star  from  the  firmament  of  London  society.  Another  paragraph,  how- 
ever, in  a paper  the  pens  of  whose  writers  were  tipped  with  gall, 
questioned  the  superior  claim  of  Mr.  Crichton  Ken  way  to  be  provided 
for  at  the  country’s  expense,  and  offered  dark  suggestions  as  to  the 
motive  for  this  appointment  on  the  part  of  an  almost  moribund  Govern* 


230 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


ment,  supposed  to  have  now  no  privileges  beyond  the  creation  of  a 
batch  of  peers.  The  writer  intimated  that  the  appointment  was  due 
to  the  private  intervention  of  a certain  eminent  Radical  statesman,  and 
hinted  that,  though  the  statesman  referred  to  was  doubtless  actuated 
by  the  most  commendable  unselfishness,  he  would  feel  the  loss  of  an 
Egeria  whose  republican  sentiments  harmonized  so  entirely  with  his 
own  political  views. 

Lady  Betty  read  this  paragraph  in  the  little  interval  of  quiet  between 
the  departure  of  her  afternoon  visitors  and  dressing  time.  For  the 
moment  it  did  not  strike  her  that  her  husband  was  the  statesman  in 
question.  When  it  did  dawn  upon  her,  she  gave  a little  cry,  half 
amused,  half  vexed,  and  glanced  at  Morse,  who  was  standing  with  his 
back  against  the  chimney-piece,  and  with  the  troubled  expression 
which  had  become  now  so  habitual  on  his  face.  He  looked  down  at 
her  in  surprise. 

“What  is  it,  Betty?  Are  the  Jingoes  still  raging  furiously  against 
me?  What  is  the  last  accusation?  That  I am  in  league  with  the 
dynamiters  ? or  that  I am  plotting  the  surrender  of  our  Indian  empire  ? 
I know  that  it  all  hurts  you,  child ; but  you  are  silly  to  mind  it.” 

Lady  Betty’s  lip  trembled,  and  she  exclaimed  with  a sort  of  childlike 
burst  of  feeling — 

“ How  can  I help  minding  it,  Sandham  ? How  can  I help  being 
made  unhappy  by  these  horrible  reports  ? For  you  won’t  take  them — 
or  me — seriously.  You  only  laugh  in  that  hard  cynical  way ; and  you 
won’t  authorize  me  to  contradict  them,  even  to  my  own  lather — or  the 
Princess ! ” 

A gleam  shot  from  Morse’s  eyes,  and  his  face  hardened  as  it  had  a 
way  of  doing  when  he  was  moved  and  yet  determined  not  to  break  his 
sell-restraint.  He  answered  in  a level  tone — 

“ At  any  rate,  exonerate  yourself  from  complicity,  Betty.  Assure 
your  father — and  the  Princess,  or  as  many  princesses  as  you  please — 
that  you  are  quite  in  the  dark,  and  that  I have  refused  to  authorize 
even  my  own  wife  to  contradict  these  reports.” 

Lady  Betty  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  and  then  straightened  herself 
with  a little  air  of  dignity. 

“Ah,  now  you  are  angry  with  me,  Sandham;  and,  indeed,  you  are 
not  just.  Isn’t  it  natural  that  I should  wish  to  take  my  husband’s 
part  when  all  the  world  is  abusing  him  ? Isn’t  it  natural  that  I should 
want  the  Royal  Family,  who  have  always  been  so  nice  to  me,  to  think 
as  well  of  you  as  they  can,  and  as  little  seriously  as  possible  of  the 
dreadful  republican  speeches  you  make,  and  of  your  opposition  to  their 
wishes  and  ideas  about  what  is  best  for  England?  Surely  I’m  not  to 
be  blamed  for  trying  to  smooth  things  over  with  my  father?  He  is 
such  a strong  Tory  and  Royalist,  don’t  you  know,  and  he  is  bitter 
against  you,  Sandham,  and  ready  to  believe  anything?  You  don’t 
understand  my  position,”  Lady  Betty  went  on,  more  plaintively. 
“ You  don’t  see  how  hard  it  is  for  me.  You  don’t  know  how  I feel 
going  out  this  evening  without  you  to  meet  the  Prince  and  Princess. 


THE  WINTER  SESSION. 


And  then  to  know  that  it  is  because  you  have  made  yourself  so 
unpopular,  and  that  people  don’t  like  to  have  you  at  their  dinner- 
parties because  your  being  there  might  cause  embarrassment  or  even 
iil  feeling.  I don’t  think  you  try  to  realize,  Sandham,  how  terrible  it 
all  is  tor  me!” 

Morse  smiled  grimly,  and  yet  his  heart  melted  towards  his  wife — 
poor  tropical  flower,  which  was  so  sweet,  fragrant,  and  brilliant  in  the 
sunshine  of  prosperity,  but  which  could  not  hold  up  its  head  before  a 
wintry  blast. 

Lord  G-ermilion  was  giving  a dinner-party  to-night,  at  which  Royalty 
was  to  be  entertained.  Lady  Betty  had  been  asked  to  preside;  but 
Morse  had  received  a hint  that  in  the  present  state  of  political  feeling, 
when  the  relations  between  parties  were  so  strained,  his  company  might 
be  distasteful  to  the  illustrious  guests.  Morse  had  accepted  the  inti- 
mation with  dignity,  and  the  subject  had  not  been  discussed  between 
his  wife  and  himself,  but  there  was  bitterness  in  his  heart. 

“ I’m  sorry  for  you,  Betty,”  he  said,  “sorry  for  your  sake  that  your 
position  to-night  may  not  be  as  pleasant  as  when  you  entertained  your 
Royal  friends  in  this  house,  not  so  many  months  ago.  There  was  an 
alternative,  dear,  however,  which  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  you — and 
I’m  almost  glad  it  did  not.” 

“What  was  that,  Sandham?  Refusing  to  go  myself?  Yes,  of 
course,  I thought  of  that ; but  it  would  never  have  done.  The  Prince 

and  Princess  might  have  fancied And,  then,  we  owe  a great  deal 

to  my  father,  Sandham.  He  was  very,  very  much  annoyed  when  I 
made  the  suggestion.  You  see,  I take  my  place  there  rather  as  his 

daughter  than He  thought  that  even  from  the  tactical  point  of 

view  it  would  be  a mistake.  You  know,  Sandham,  I have  always 
reli?  d very  much  on  my  father’s  judgment.” 

“Anyhow,  the  point  needn’t  be  discussed,”  said  Morse  a little 
impatiently.  “I’m  glad  on  the  whole  that  you  followed  your  own 
instincts,  Betty.  And  so  it’s  settled  ; and  if  the  Royalties  ask  you 
whether  it  is  true  that  I am  plotting  to  overthrow  them  and  to  ruin 
England,  you  can  only  say  that  you  did  your  best  to  find  out,  and 
that  I wouldn’t  authorize  you  to  contradict  the  statement.”  There 
was  a little  silence.  Then  he  said,  “ But  you  haven’t  told  me  yet 
what < Fashion  ’ is  saying  about  me.” 

Lady  Betty’s  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  her  husband  with  a wonder- 
ing, pathetic  expression.  She  was  thinking  to  herself  that  he  was 
hard  to  understand,  and  she  recalled  a warning  given  to  her  at  the 
time  of  her  marriage  by  an  elderly  relative,  since  dead,  that  in  reality 
a gulf  lay  between  Morse  and  her.  Then  love  had  seemed  to  bridge 
the  gulf  completely,  and  she  had  laughed  at  the  warning.  Now  it 
came  back  to  her  with  a pang  of  passionate  regret  and  self-pity.  She 
knew  that  the  bridge  had  given  way,  and  that  the  gulf  was  there. 
Poor  Lady  Betty  fell  that  of  late  everything  had  gone  wrong,  and  she 
could  not  rightly  tell  how  or  why.  It  was  unreasonable  to  think  that 
a mere  difference  in  political  opinion  could  hold  apart  so  icily  two 


232 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE . 


hearts  which  truly  loved  each  other.  Lady  Betty  was  not  a woman 
of  deep  intuition,  and  she  was  not  given  to  analysis;  but  it  came  upon 
her  now  that  something  subtler  and  stronger  than  politics  lay  at  the 
root  of  their  attitude  towards  each  other.  Six  years  ago  they  would 
have  forgotten  all  their  differences  in  an  embrace.  They  would  have 
talked  over,  hand  in  hand,  any  such  question  as  that  of  Morse’s 
presence  or  absence  at  one  of  Lord  Gfermilion’s  ceremonious  entertain- 
ments. It  had  not  occurred  to  Lady  Betty  before  that  there  had 
grown  up  a sort  of  formality  even  in  their  endearments.  It  all  came 
into  her  mind  now,  and  filled  her  with  vague  dread,  mingled  with 
uneasiness  and  faint  resentment.  She  felt  like  a frightened  child  in 
a dark  room,  and  she  was  angry  at  having  been  brought  and  left 
there.  What  did  it  mean ? Was  he  tired  of  her?  Had  she  disap- 
pointed him  ? How  could  that  be  ? Did  not  people  in  high  places— 
those  among  whom  she  had  been  trained  in  the  duties  of  her  station — 
compliment  her  upon  her  social  eclecticism,  her  tact,  her  skill  in  bringing 
together  the  members  of  different  parties?  Had  she  not  cultivated 
these  qualities  with  the  aim  of  furthering  her  husband’s  interests? 
Had  she  ever  been  other  than  sweet  and  gentle?  Lady  Betty  could 
not  reproach  herself.  She  had  a half-impulse  to  rise  and  go  to  him, 
and,  leaning  her  head  against  him,  ask  him  in  the  old  caressing  tone 
why  he  spoke  so  coldly  aud  treated  her  with  so  little  confidence.  But 
pride  held  her  back.  With  all  her  sweetness  she  was  very  proud. 
Hers  was  the  pride  of  race,  not  that  larger,  nobler  kind,  which  cannot 
ascribe  a small  motive,  and  which  gives  the  full  trust  it  demands. 
Then  she  saw  with  a swift  jealous  pang  that  he  was  not  conscious  she 
W’as  looking  at  him.  He  was  not  thinking  of  her.  His  eyes  were  on 
the  ground,  and  he  seemed  in  a reverie.  She  made  a little  petulant 
gesture,  and  sank  back  in  her  chair.  He  looked  up. 

“Well,  dear,  what  about  my  latest  calumniator?  What  has  he  to 
say — or  she  ? ” 

" It  is  only  a paragraph  about  Mr.  Kenway’s  appointment,”  said 
Lady  Betty,  hurriedly  turning  away  her  eyes  again ; “ and  there  is  an 
allusion  to  you  in  it — I suppose,  Sandham,  it  is  you  they  mean?  You 
are  the  eminent  Radical  statesman — and  Mrs.  Kenway  is  your  Egeria. 
1 didn’t  think ” 

Lady  Betty  stopped  suddenly,  and  her  hand  faltered  as  she  held  out 
the  paper  towards  her  husband.  Something  struck  her  like  the  blow 
of  a knife,  and  there  passed  through  her  a thrill  of  pain  and  anger. 
Was  this  the  meaning  of  what  had  troubled  her? 

He  bent  eagerly  forward  to  take  the  paper,  and  she  saw  a change 
come  over  his  face  which  had  seemed  so  hard  and  indifferent  before. 
The  change  was  but  momentary ; it  might  be  likened  to  the  play  of 
lightning  on  a rock.  In  an  instant  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  wTere 
tightened  again,  and  the  features  once  more  set  and  resolute.  But  she 
had  seen  them  quiver;  she  had  seen  the  gleam  of  some  sudden  intense 
feeling  in  his  eyes. 

Lady  Betty  sat  motionless  while  he  read  the  paragraph.  He  put 


THE  WINTER  SESSION 


2 33 


the  pa]»er  down  again  without  a word.  He  knew  that  he  had  betrayed 
himself.  Lady  Betty’s  pride  stood  her  in  evil  stead  then.  He  made 
a little  movement  towards  her;  but  she  rose  from  her  chair,  and 
turned  away.  Her  face  had  hardened  too ; it  was  white  and  cold. 
She  would  not  look  at  him.  A rush  of  the  keenest  self-reproach,  of 
humiliation,  almost  of  agony,  flooded  his  heart. 

“ Betty  ! ” he  exclaimed. 

But  for  his  unhappy  sensitiveness,  which  seemed  to  tell  him  that 
she  would  be  ice  in  his  arms,  he  would  have  taken  her  to  him.  It  is 
the  curse  of  such  natures  that  in  a moment  of  crisis  some  mere  cross- 
current of  emotion  may  turn  the  whole  tide  of  feeling,  and  the  rush  of 
sympathy  becomes  as  impossible  as  if  it  were  checked  by  a dam  of 
granite.  Morse  could  not  go  to  his  wife  and  kiss  her  doubts  away. 
Argument  upon  them,  she  would,  he  felt  certain,  consider  an  insivlt. 
He  understood  her  pride.  He  knew  that  her  manner  of  showing  him 
that  she  doubted  would  be  to  ignore  the  cause  of  her  doubts.  To  have 
it  admitted  that  she — Lady  Betty — had  reason  for  jealousy  would  be 
a cruel  stab.  In  that  half-world  of  feeling,  where  thought  and  impulses 
are  obstacles  as  real  as  any  in  the  material  world,  Morse  felt  like  a giant 
blindfolded  and  bound.  He  had  in  him  the  strength  to  clear  a wav, 
but  he  did  not  know  where  to  turn,  and  could  not  lift  his  hands.  He 
had  a passionate  longing  to  break  free  from  restraints,  to  pluck  away 
masks,  and  to  face  the  situation  ; to  stand  his  trial — the  conventional 
here,  the  natural  there,  with  cold,  stern,  passionless  duty  for  the 
umpire.  With  all  the  sense  of  hopelessness,  revolt,  and  impatience 
of  shams,  he  had  no  desire  to  shirk  his  obligations.  He  felt  nothing 
but  tenderness  and  pity  for  his  wife,  intense  sorrow  for  the  division 
between  them,  remorse  for  the  share,  however  slight  and  soon  repented, 
he  had  had  in  its  cause. 

It  was  a strange  moment,  in  which  nothing  was  said  or  could  be 
said,  but  in  which  so  much  was  understood.  Presently  Lady  Betty 
turned  to  him,  her  eyes  not  meeting  his,  and  said  in  a studiously  cold 
mechanical  way — 

“ When  do  the  Ken  ways  leave  London,  Sand  ham  ? I must  call  on 
Mrs.  Kenway  and  bid  her  good-bye.” 

“ I think  it  will  be  soon,”  he  answered,  in  something  of  the  same 
manner.  There  was  another  short  silence,  exquisitely  painful.  Then 
he  said,  “ You  are  always  kind,  Betty  ; and  you  have  been  very  good 
to  her.” 

“ I wanted  to  make  things  nice  for  her,”  said  poor  Lady  Betty.  “ I 
don’t  know  quite  where  Farnesia  is,”  she  added,  in  a cold  voice  and 
with  a sort  of  simulated  interest;  “ and  I suppose  one  ought  to  condole 
with  Mrs.  Kenway  on  having  to  leave  England;  but  all  those  places 
have  hot  climates,  and  she  was  brought  up  in  the  tropics — isn’t  it? 
and  must  feel  the  cold,  so  I don’t  suppose  she  will  mind  the  change  so 
much — as  I should.  It’s  getting  late,  Sandham,  I must  go  and  dress.” 

She  went  towards  the  door.  He  opened  it  for  her,  and  she  passed 
through  without  looking  at  him. 

16 


234 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


The  paragraph  was  right.  It  was  through  Morse’s  instrumentality 
that  Crichton  Ken  way  had  again  been  allowed  the  opportunity  of 
accepting  or  refusing  the  Farnesia  appointment.  Governorships  are 
not  things  to  go  begging,  and  so  Lord  Coulmont  had  felt.  But  the 
Ministers  were  not  averse  to  gratifying  the  wishes  of  an  opponent  by 
whose  grace  they  remained  in  power.  There  is  much  revolving  of 
wheels  and  pulling  of  strings  even  in  minor  political  affairs. 

After  he  had  definitely  announced  his  determination  not  to  try  and 
form  a Ministry,  Morse  saw  Crichton  at  his  club,  and  told  him  that, 
though  a post  in  the  Colonial  Office  was  out  of  the  question,  the  chance 
of  going  to  Farnesia  was  still  open  to  him.  Crichton  dissembled  his 
rage,  but  his  manner  gave  Morse  a new  insight  into  the  cause  of  poor 
Koorali’s  unhappiness.  Morse  detected  the  false  note  in  Crichton’s 
somewhat  effusive  expressions.  The  savage  gleam  in  his  eye  could  not 
be  hidden;  and  the  man’s  whole  demeanour  made  Morse  think  of 
a Syrian  jackal  he  had  once  seen  shaking  with  suppressed  fury,  but 
not  daring  to  show  his  fangs.  It  gave  Morse  an  uneasy  feeling.  For 
the  moment  he  regretted  the  turn  events  had  taken.  Oh,  that  it  had 
been  possible  for  him  to  remain  Koorali’s  friend — to  watch  over  her 
welfare  in  England ! He  cut  short  an  artful  digression  of  Ken  way’s 
which  had  lor  its  object  the  gaining  of  some  political  information. 

“ We  shall  know  nothing  till  the  House  meets.  In  the  meantime 
you’ll  think  over  this  suggestion  and  decide  by  to-morrow.  In  your 
own  interest  I should  advise  you  to  try  Farnesia ; it  may  lead  to  some- 
thing better  by-and-by.” 

He  was  moving  off,  anxious  to  close  a distasteful  conversation, 
but  Kenway  detained  him.  My  answer  might  be  given  now,  Mr. 
Morse,  but  perhaps  I’d  better  talk  it  over  with  my  wife.  Anyhow 
you  have  my  thanks — and  my  gratitude.  I don’t  pretend  that  I 
shouldn’t  have  preferred  something  else  to  Farnesia,  but  one  can’t 
always  have  what  he  prefers.  Isn’t  it  so  ? ” 

Ken  way’s  malign  furtive  gaze  dropped  before  Morse’s  quick  glance. 

“ Yes.  Life  is  a question  of  compromise.  Good-bye.” 

“ You  are  almost  a stranger  to  us  now,”  exclaimed  Kenway.  “ How 
is  that  ? Koorali  bade  me  ask  what  we  have  done  that  you  so  seldom 
come  near  us.” 

Morse  knew  well  that  Koorali  had  sent  no  such  message.  A sicken- 
ing feeling  of  disgust  rose  within  him. 

“ The  elections  are  my  excuse,”  he  said.  “ Please  make  my  apolo- 
gies to  Mrs.  Kenway.  I shall  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  before 
long.”  He  turned  away,  with  a somewhat  ceremonious  gesture  of 
leave-taking. 

“ Damn  him!  ” muttered  Kenway  below  his  breath. 

Morse  did  not  call  at  the  house  yet,  nor  did  he  write  to  Koorkli 
about  the  impending  change  in  her  life.  She  was  not  consulted  by 
her  husband  either.  His  manner  to  her  since  the  scene  in  which  she 
had  begged  for  freedom  had  been  gruff,  distant,  almost  unbearable. 
He  seemed  to  wash  that  she  should  understand  once  for  all  that  he  was 


THE  WINTER  SESSION 


235 


master.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  affair  till  he  told  her,  in  no  very 
agreeable  manner,  that  he  had  decided  to  go  to  Farnesia,  and  that  they 
would  sail  shortly  after  the  meeting  of  Parliament.  She  made  no  pro- 
test. Was  it  not  what  she  herself  had  urged? 

She  read  the  paragraph  which  had  caught  Lady  Betty’s  attention, 
and  her  cheeks  burned  and  her  heart  throbbed  with  pain.  It  was 
time  that  she  went  away. 

The  date  was  fixed  now.  Crichton  was  busy  with  his  arrangements. 
The  Grey  Manor  was  let,  and  soon  the  London  house  would  be  let 
also.  In  the  meantime,  Crichton  was  taking  advantage  of  his  oppor- 
tunities to  get  as  much  hunting  as  he  could,  and,  with  a view  to  some 
distant  future,  cementing  his  interests  in  Lyndfordshire. 

KoorMi  remained  in  London.  She  felt  dreary  and  solitary.  Her 
mourning  exempted  her  from  gaiety.  She  refused  invitations.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  star  of  the  once-brilliant  Mrs.  Crichton  Kenway  had 
sunk  below  the  horizon.  She  never  saw  Morse.  It  struck  her  some- 
times as  strange  that  Lady  Betty  did  not  ask  her  to  luncheon  or  dinner 
as  of  ol<l.  Then  she  remembered  the  cloudy  political  prospects,  and 
Lady  Betty’s  uneasiness  and  alarm  and  horror  of  republican  tenden- 
cies. Perhaps  she  was  not  giving  luncheon  and  dinner  parties  now. 
Koorali  could  not  help  wondering,  however,  whether  there  could  be  any 
other  cause  for  this  cessation  of  intercourse. 

One  bright  hour  in  Koorali’s  life  about  this  time  was  scored  by  her 
visit  to  the  house  of  Lord  Forrest.  The  extreme  of  Lord  Forrest’s 
concession  to  the  principle  of  social  intercourse  was  his  invitation  of 
one  or  two  ladies  to  luncheon,  and  he  sent  through  his  son  such  an 
invitation  to  KoorMi.  Lord  Arden  called  for  her  and  brought  her  to 
his  father’s  house.  There  was  at  first  something  scliauderhaft  to 
Koorali’s  mind  in  the  aspect  of  the  large  lonely  house.  It  looked  as 
the  palace  of  Prince  Breffni,  in  the  Irish  story,  might  have  looked 
when  the  false  and  fair  princess  had  deserted  her  home.  But  the 
sweet  and  gracious  courtesy  of  the  occupant  soon  dispelled  this  gloomy 
feeling.  Only  three  sat  to  luncheon — Koorali,  Lord  Forrest,  and 
Arden.  Lord  Forrest  had  to  Koorali  a petting  and  soothing  manner. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  symathy  with  her — she  could  not  quite  understand 
how  or  why.  His  voice  had  a caressing  tenderness  about  it,  as  if  he 
was  of  opinion  that  she  was  somehow  misprized,  and  that  he  wanted 
to  try  to  make  up  to  her  for  it.  His  manner  breathed  the  spirit  of  the 
line  in  Goethe’s  immortal  ballad  : “ Was  hat  man  dir,  du  armes  kind, 
gethan?”  “What  have  they  done  to  you,  you  poor  child?”  How 
have  they  wronged  you  who  ought  to  care  for  you?  It  was,  perhaps, 
only  Koorali’s  own  sensitive  and  excited  fancy  which  made  her  put 
this  sort  of  interpretation  on  the  chivalrous  courtesy  of  an  old  man 
who  would  have  been  courteous  and  chivalric  to  a milkmaid ; but  she 
could  not  help  believing  that  his  way  of  receiving  her  and  welcoming 
her  bespoke  something  of  a special  sympathy.  In  her  present  mood 
she  was  so  much  touched  by  it  that  she  could  hardly  keep  the  tears 
from  coming  into  her  eyes  now  and  then.  She  was  always  moved 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


236 

more  by  kindness  than  by  unkindness.  Unkindness  froze  her;  the 
touch  of  sympathy  alone  dissolved  the  congealed  emotions  of  her  bosom- 
Lord  Forrest  showed  her  his  pictures,  his  curiosities,  his  abundant 
family  relics.  There  was  something  wondrously  fascinating  to  the 
Australian  woman  in  the  unbroken  connection  of  the  past  and  the  pre- 
sent which  these  family  relics  preserved  and  illustrated.  One  must  be 
born  of  a new  country  in  order  quite  to  understand  the  feeling.  The 
sword  that  had  stricken  at  Agincourt ; the  crucifix  that  had  been 
pressed  to  the  dying  lips  of  an  ancestral  Crusader  on  the  plains  of 
Sharon;  the  mailed  glove  that  had  rusted  on  Bosworth  Field;  the 
horse-pistol  which  had  been  last  discharged  at  Naseby ; the  plume 
that  had  been  drenched  in  the  blood  and  mire  of  Culloden — such 
embodied  memories  as  these  made  Koorali’s  pulses  tingle.  Kepublican 
and  democrat  as  she  was  she  could  not  but  see  that  there  is  a roman- 
tic, a picturesque,  a poetic  side  to  the  theory  of  an  aristocracy  and  an 
ancestry;  and  that  what  our  forefathers  have  done  for  us  we  may, 
despite  of  Ovid’s  Ulysses,  sometimes  call  our  own. 

“ This  is  a great  country,”  she  suddenly  said,  with  an  involuntary 
burst  of  emotion  ; “ one  must  see  that.” 

“ It  was  a great  country,”  Lord  Forrest  said,  “ when  it  was  a 
country  with  a principle.” 

“ There  are  Englishmen  with  a principle  now,”  Koorali  began  in  an 
excited  way ; and  then  she  suddenly  stopped.  She  thought  she  saw 
Lord  Arden’s  eyes  turn  quickly  on  her. 

“ Heaven  forbid  that  I should  say  no,”  Lord  Forrest  answered. 
“ But  they  do  not,  such  men,  usually  seek  public  life ; or,  if  they  do, 
they  soon  find  that  it  does  not  understand  them.  But,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Ken  way,  I don’t  mean  to  fatigue  you  with  our  politics  here ; I want 
you  to  tell  me  something  about  your  Australian  colonies.  Are  your 
people  really  going  in  for  dividing  South  Britain  ? ” 

Then  he  began  to  talk  about  Australia,  and  Koorali  was  surprised 
at  the  freshness  and  accuracy  of  his  information.  He  told  her  that  in 
his  youth,  when  he  had  some  thought  of  becoming  a practical  poli- 
tician, he  had  had  a conviction  that  an  English  statesman  ought  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  the  real  condition  of  all  England’s 
colonies  and  depend encies,  and  that  for  that  reason  he  had  travelled 
through  India,  Canada,  Australia,  and  all  the  colonial  territories  of 
Great  Britain,  and  that  he  had  tried  to  keep  up  his  acquaintance  with 
them  ever  since. 

“ But  it  has  been  of  little  use  to  me,”  he  said,  with  a melancholy 
smile  ; “and  of  no  use  whatever  to  any  one  else.  Mine,  I am  afraid, 
has  not  been  a very  useful  career.” 

“ I think  it  a pity,”  Koorali  said  impulsively.  “ You  might  have 
been  a great  man.”  And  then  she  blushed  and  thought  she  was  be- 
coming far  too  effusive. 

“Why  do  you  say  that?”  Lord  Forrest  asked.  “You  have  no 
reason  to  form  so  good  an  opinion  of  my  capacity.  Who  told  you  ? ” 
Koorali  could  not  resist  the  kindly  imperiousness  of  his  tone.  She 


THE  WINTER  SESSION 


2 37 

answer<  d as  a child  might  have  done.  “ Mr.  Morse  told  me  you 
might  have  had  a great  career.” 

“ Ah ! ” Lord  Forrest  said.  “ That  was  kind  of  him.  I value  his 
good  opinion.  I admire  Mr.  Morse.” 

“ So  do  I,”  Koor&li  said  fervently. 

“ We  represent  the  two  utter  extremes  of  political  faith,”  Lord 
Forrest  went  on;  “but  I respect  his  convictions,  his  sincerity,  and 
his  capacity.  Only  I think  he  undervalues  the  strength  of  the  forces 
against  which  he  has  to  struggle.  He  is  about  as  much  too  far  in 
advance  as  I am,  they  tell  me,  too  far  behind.  He  will  be  wrecked 
some  day ; but,  then,  he  is  young — in  my  sense  quite  young — and  he 
can  swim  ashore  and  live  to  try  the  sea  again ; and,  if  he  is  like  other 
politicians,  he  can  learn  how  to  trim  his  sails  and  so  catch  the  benefit 
of  every  passing  breeze  from  whatever  quarter  it  may  blow.” 

“ Mr.  Morse  is  not  like  other  politicians,”  Koor&li  protested  with 
spirit. 

“ You  think  not?  Well,  so  do  I.  Therefore  he  will  be  wrecked.” 
“A  man  must  steer  a certain  course  sometimes,”  Koorali  said, 
“even  though  he  runs  the  chance  of  being  wrecked.  He  must  steer 
to  save  a sinking  ship,  whatever  the  risk  to  himself.” 

Lord  Forrest  looked  at,  her  with  kindly  eyes.  “ You  have  put  your 
illustration  well,”  he  said.  Then  he  changed  the  subject,  and  showed 
her  some  volumes  of  letters  written  by  certain  of  his  great  ancestors. 

An  hour  or  two  passed  pleasantly  away.  Lord  Arden  did  not  talk 
much.  He  left  his  father  and  Koorali  to  do  the  talking  between  them. 
He  wanted  to  bring  them  together;  he  knew  if  they  were  brought 
together  his  father  would  be  attracted  by  Koorali,  and  he  was  looking 
out  for  a time  when  the  protecting  presence  of  such  a man  might  be 
of  some  service  to  the  wife  of  Crichton  Kenway.  He  was  well  con- 
tented with  the  apparent  results  of  his  kindly  experiment.  Lord 
Forrest  positively  insisted  that  Koorali  must  come  again. 

The  old  man  came  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  hall  with  her. 
When  she  was  saying  good-bye,  he  took  her  hand  in  his. 

“ In  the  old  days,”  he  said,  “ a gentleman — when  there  were  gentle- 
men in  England — took  leave  of  a fair  guest  after  this  fashion.”  He 
raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  his  white  moustache  brushed  her  glove 
ever  so  lightly.  Then  he  bade  her  good-bye ; and  she  got  into  her 
carriage.  Arden  opened  the  carriage  door  for  her,  and  closed  it  when 
she  was  in. 

“ How  do  you  like  my  father  ? ” he  asked,  as  he  leaned  on  the  car- 
riage window. 

“ Oh,  of  course,  I like  him  ! I revere  him,”  she  said  impetuously. 
“ But  that’s  nothing ; every  one  must  feel  like  that  for  him.  But  I do 
hope,  oh,  I do  so  hope,  that  he  likes  me.” 

“ Yes ; he  likes  you,”  Arden  said.  “ You  have  a friend  in  him  if 
ever  you  want  one.  I know  my  father.” 

4?  I know  you  both,”  Koorali  thought  as  she  drove  away,  and  her 
eyes  were  wet. 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE* 


238 


CHAETEB  XXIX. 

“ THE  INSEPARABLE  SIGH  FOR  HER.” 

Every  one  was  talking  of  the  expected  war ; wondering  when  it  was 
to  break  out.  Many  were  impatient  because  every  now  and  then  it 
seemed  to  hang  tire.  Women  in  drawing-rooms  chatted  of  it  with 
light  heart,  and  wished  it  would  begin  at  once,  in  order  that  they 
might  be  amused.  There  much  talk,  too,  of  the  coming  popular 
demonstration  ; of  the  meeting  in  Hyde  Park  and  the  procession  to 
Palace  Yard.  Many  elderly  men  in  the  clubs  were  of  opinion  that  the 
only  way  to  deal  with  the  whole  affair  was  to  plant  a few  cannon 
somewhere  on  the  line  of  the  procession  and  sweep  the  whole  rascally 
crew  away.  “ Put  them  down,  sir  ! put  them  down  ! ” That  was  the 
only  policy.  Men  in  the  clubs  were  furious  against  Morse  for  the 
encouragement  he  was  giving  to  these  unwashed  scoundrels,  sir! 
“ That’s  what  comes  of  your  colonial  republicanism,  by  Jove  ! ” 

One  day,  to  Koorali’s  surprise,  Lady  Betty  came  to  call  upon  her. 
Koorkli  had  given  her  up ; thought  that  for  some  reason  the  acquaint- 
anceship was  at  an  end.  Lady  Betty  looked  pale  and  a little  anxious. 
Her  manner,  in  spite  of  its  bright  frivolity,  was  constrained.  She  did 
not  talk  in  her  former  fresh  and  frank  way.  She  had  nothing  to  say 
about  the  discomfort  of  being  the  wife  of  an  unpopular  public  man. 
She  said  very  little  about  her  husband.  The  conversation  turned 
chiefly  on  the  current  gossip  of  London  ; social  rather  than  political. 
After  a while,  Lady  Betty  began  to  make  inquiry  about  the  climate  of 
Farnesia,  the  society  of  the  place,  and  the  social  duties  of  a governor’s 
wife. 

“ I have  always  thought  I should  rather  like  a position  of  that  kind, 
if  it  didn’t  take  one  away  from  England  and  friends  and  all  that,” 
Lady  Betty  said  vaguely.  “ There  would  be  no  complications,  don’t 
you  know.  No  tiresome  politics  and  socialism,  which  is  all  very 
amusing  until  it  gets  serious.  And,  then,  it  is  so  nice  and  so  easy  to 
make  people  happy.  One  has  only  to  give  plenty  of  parties  and 
remember  laces  and  say  pretty  things  to  the  right  persons.” 

Lady  Betty  sighed.  It  flashed  across  her  that  perhaps  it  was  not 
always  so  easy  to  say  the  right  thing  when  one  had  to  deal  with 
exceptional  temperaments.  She  was  a little  impatient  of  exceptional 
temperaments,  and  fine  theories  and  principles,  and  romantic  fancies 
and  emotions.  She  did  not  care  for  all  that  kind  of  thing,  except  as  a 
picturesque  background  to  pleasant  life  in  the  best  society — the  life 
of  a model  hostess,  an  affectionate  wife,  too  well  bred  not  to  take  her 
husband’s  devotion  for  granted. 

La<iy  Betty’s  good  breeding  had  the  effect  of  saving  her  some  serious 
heart  pangs.  She  could  not  admit  herself  to  be  in  a position  of  rivalry 
with  any  woman.  Such  a consciousness  might  fester  in  her  mind,  and 
in  an  indirect  way  influence  her  character  and  her  actions;  but  she 


239 


“THE  INSEPARABLE  SIGH  FOR  HER ” 

would  only  recognize  its  existence  when  impelled  against  herself  to  do 
so.  If,  as  now,  she  suffered  through  it,  she  would  refuse  to  believe 
seriously  in  her  suffering.  She  had" not  crushed  her  suddenly  aroused 
jealousy  of  Koor&li  by  any  effort  of  will,  any  strength  of  magnanimity. 
She  had  left  it  behind  her  in  the  depths  she  had  sounded  for  a moment, 
and  had  risen  again  to  the  smooth  surface  and  sought  the  shallows, 
determined  to  venture  no  more  into  troubled  waters.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  some  suppressed  agitation  in  Lady  Betty’s  way  of  looking 
at  and  speaking  to  Koorali — something  which  had  never  been  in  her 
manner  before.  She  got  up  presently,  and  Koorali  rose  too. 

“ I won’t  say  good-bye  to  you,  Mrs.  Kenway,  because  I am  quite 
certain  to  see  you  again  before  you  leave  for  good.” 

“Let  us  say  good-bye  now,”  answered  Koorali,  an  impulse  seizing 
her.  She  took  Lady  Betty’s  hand  in  hers.  “I  may  not  have  an 
opportunity  again  of  telling  you — of  saying  how  much  I value  all  the 
kindness  you  have  shown  me  since  I came  to  England.”  She  stopped 
for  a moment.  The  eyes  of  the  two  women  met.  Lady  Betty  did  not 
bend  forward  and  kiss  her  friend,  as  she  had  often  done  so  readily  be- 
fore. “ I pray  that  you  may  be  happy,  Lady  Betty — you  and  youi 
husband.” 

Koorali’s  voice  trembled  a little.  She  longed  to  say,  <c  Oh,  cling  to 
him,  Lady  Betty;  make  yourself  everything  to  him  now;  trust  him  ; 
be  generous  to  him — and  to  me.”  With  the  quick  instinct  of  a woman 
who  loves,  Kooiaii  took  in  the  whole  sad  situation — the  division 
between  husband  and  wife ; the  utter  inability  of  the  one  to  make  any 
response  to  the  other’s  need.  Her  own  heart  cried  out  in  passionate 
sympathy,  but  no  wrords  would  pass  her  lips.  Lady  Betty,  in  her 
fashionably  cut  mantle,  with  her  pretty  smile  that  no  disappointment 
could  dim,  her  charming  chit-chat,  the  outcome  of  a narrow  experience 
that  had  never  ranged  beyond  courts  and  drawing-rooms,  seemed  to 
her  at  that  moment  the  last  woman  to  whom  she  could  make  such  an 
appeal ; and  so  the  two  parted  with  the  usual  conventional  platitudes 
and  expressions  of  good-will. 

A feeling  of  restlessness  came  over  Koorali  when  Lady  Betty  had. 
gone.  She  could  not  sit  in  the  house.  Something  oppressed  her. 
She  wanted  air  and  space  and  freedom  to  breathe.  The  afternoon  was 
closing  in.  She  put  on  her  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  went  out.  Within 
doors  sometimes  the  winter  darkness  and  solemnity  of  this  great  Lon- 
don, with  the  roar  of  traffic  sounding  as  from  a distance,  gave  her  the 
sense  of  being  in  a tomb,  and  the  bustle  and  noise  of  the  streets,  the 
hurrying  crowd,  and  the  lights  and  life  of  the  shops  were  at  once  a 
stimulant  and  a relief. 

It  was  bitterly  cold.  The  winter  had  set  in  with  unusual  severity, 
and,  though  as  yet  there  had  been  no  snow  fall,  the  ground  was  frozen 
hard.  Koorali  walked  on  quickly  till  she  reached  Hyde  Park,  and 
then,  turning  away  from  the  frequented  paths,  struck  into  one  of  the 
quiet  walks  on  the  west  side  of  the  Serpentine.  There  always  seemed 
to  her  a curious  picturesqueness  about  this  part  of  the  park.  She 


24° 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


liked  the  old  gnarled  trees,  the  long  vistas  which  seemed  to  end  at  tha 
horizon,  the  grey  mist  that  clung  to  everything,  and  through  which 
the  moving  figures  looked  like  shrouded  ghosts.  The  melancholy 
suggestiveness  of  it  all  touched  some  poetic  chord  in  her  nature.  She 
sat  down  on  a bench  by  the  Serpentine  for  a few  minutes.  The  sun 
was  setting — the  round  red  ball  sinking  slowly,  with  no  roseate  glow 
surrounding  it,  but  getting  gradually  duller  as  the  mist  covered  it,  like 
the  eye  of  some  wounded  Titan  glazed  by  the  dew  of  death.  There 
was  a light  hoar-frost  on  the  ground  and  on  the  laurel  bushes,  and  the 
network  of  naked  twig  and  bough  showed  black  against  the  steely  sky. 
The  frozen  water  looked  like  a sheet  of  dull  glass  of  the  same  tone  as 
the  mist  and  the  sky.  Now  a gas-lamp  was  beginning  to  twinkle  here 
and  there.  The  scene  was  dreary  and  yet  pathetic,  and  the  loneliness 
seemed  intensified  by  the  roar  of-  the  invisible  city.  At  intervals  a 
figure  stepped  out  of  the  fog,  passing  by  where  she  sat.  One  with  a 
stately  swaying  walk  seemed  to  step  forth  more  decidedly  than  the 
rest ; and  as  she  rose  to  move  on  homeward  again,  it  halted  abruptly 
before  her,  attracted  by  her  involuntary  exclamation.  She  had  recog- 
nized Morse. 

He  had  come  out  in  the  same  mood  as  she  herself — the  expression 
of  his  face  told  her  that.  When  she  saw  and  knew  him,  a kind  of 
terror  seized  her,  and  she  would  have  hurried  on,  but  it  was  too  late. 

“ Mrs.  Kenway  ! ” he  said.  They  shook  hands.  Her  hand  was  cold. 
They  looked  at  each  other  through  the  gathering  darkness.  For  both 
the  moment  had  a world  of  meaning  and  of  misery.  Soul  and  will 
struggled.  There  was  no  pressure  of  hands  ; only  the  merest  con-* 
ventional  shake-hands.  At  that  moment  a little  gust  of  wind  swept  by 
and  blew  up  the  dtad  leaves,  and  some  drops  of  sleet  fell.  The  even- 
ing  had  changed.  Kooiali  shivered,  more  from  nervousness  than  from 
cold. 

“There’s  a thaw  coming,”  Morse  said  mechanically.  “Why  are 
you  out  at  this  hour?”  he  asked,  turning  upon  her;  “in  this  damp 
place,  and  so  far  from  your  home?  It  is  not  good  for  you — you  who 
have  never  known  an  English  winter.” 

“ I’m  going  home  now,”  said  Kooiali  submissively.  “ I wanted  to 
walk — to  have  some  air.  And  I like  the  cold  grey  look  of  everything. 
It’s  so  different  from  anything  I’ve  ever  seen  before.  It’s  more 

poetic ” She  stopped,  and  gave  that  hard  little  laugh  he  had  got  to 

know.  “ We  talk  a great  deal  about  our  fine  scenery  and  our  wonder- 
ful sunsets,  Mr.  Morse,”  she  went  on,  bravely  taking  up  again  the 
part  she  had  laid  down  for  a moment;  “bnt  I have  seen  a wonderful 
sunset  to-day,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  England  is  the  land  of  sur- 
prises, and  that  it  is  Australia  which  is  tame.” 

He  smiled  in  an  absent  way.  There  was  pain  in  the  smile.  “ Well,” 
he  said,  “ you  are  going  back  again  to  your  tropical  sunsets.” 

“ Yes,”  she  answered  nervously ; “ very  soon.  1 ought  to  thank 
you  — for ” 

“No,”  he  interrupted  harshly.  “Don’t.”  There  was  a short 


“ THE  INSEPARABLE  SIGH  FOP  HEP: 


241 


silence,  and  he  resumed.  “ The  elections  are  over,  Mrs.  Kenway,  you 
see,  and  my  prophecy  has  come  true.  I can  do  nothing  for  my 
friends ; and  I don’t  suppose  that  to-day  there  is  a more  unpopular 
public  man  in  England  than  myself.” 

“ You  don’t  care? ” she  asked  timidly. 

“Care — I?  Not  a jot.”  He  laughed.  “ But  my  wife  cares;  and 
my  father-in-law  cares ; and  my  friends  care ; — all,  except,  perhaps — 
you.” 

“I  care  very  much  that  you  should  reap  the  reward  for  patriotism 
and  disinterestedness,”  she  answered  softly,  and  felt  that  she  had 
uttered  a mere  platitude. 

He  laughed  again  in  a chilling  way.  “Oh,  rewards  of  that  kind 
belong  to  a better  world,  don’t  they  say?  Duty  is  its  own  reward 
here.  Doesn’t  an  insane  wish  come  over  you  sometimes  that  you 
might  break  the  images  and  knock  down  the  altars  ? ” 

She  was  silent.  A sob  seemed  to  choke  her.  They  had  been 
walking  on.  The  wind  was  blowing  stronger  now,  and  the  sleety 
shower  fell  more  thickly.  They  had  nearly  reached  one  of  the  gates 
at  the  Bayswater  side. 

“ Will  you  put  me  into  a cab?”  she  said  presently. 

“ Certainly.” 

He  signed  to  a hansom,  and  put  her  in.  When  he  had  given  the 
driver  the  direction,  he  lifted  his  hat  without  a word,  and  the  cab 
drove  off. 

Koorali  leaned  hack  with  the  despairing  sense  of  one  who  has 
watched  the  treasure  most  coveted  float  by,  and  must  not  stretch  forth 
a hand  to  stop  it.  Morse  had  said  nothing  about  seeing  her  before 
she  left  England.  He  dared  not  trust  himself  or  her.  He  would  not 
bid  her  good-bye. 

Morse  turned  again  into  the  park,  and  tramped  on  along  the  broad 
walk,  heedless  of  the  now  drenching  raiu.  The  sudden  change  in  the 
night  seemed  to  harmonize  with  that  flash-like  meeting  and  with  his 
new  mood.  The  mist,  the  thick  masses  of  smoke-like  clouds,  the 
leafless  boughs  of  the  trees  tossed  wearily  by  the  gusts  of  wind,  the  far 
horizon-line  of  lights  on  either  side,  the  rain  streaming  against  him — 
darkness,  shadow,  and  light,  the  great,  vast  dun  sky  over  his  head, 
all  taken  together  in  their  effect,  wrought  a strange,  wild,  sad  moment 
of  emotion  in  him.  He  slackened  his  walk  and  looked  over  the  lonely 
scene,  and  with  the  half-poetic  egotism  which  is  in  certain  moods  in- 
separable even  from  natures  that  are  not  selfish,  he  seemed  to  feel  as 
if  the  winds,  and  lights,  and  shadows,  and  the  sombre  skies  above  him, 
were  symbolic  of  his  own  life,  his  long-vanished  youth  ; the  years 
that  were  darkening  round  him,  the  storms  of  the  future  already 
heard  approaching,  the  lost  hopes  and  fond  illusions  of  the  past.  To 
what  had  it  all  come — his  struggles,  his  successes,  his  futile  ambitions, 
even  his  very  love  of  country  and  his  longing  for  the  welfare  of  its 
peoph — to  what  had  it  all  come  ? Was  it  not  now  every  day  brought 
more  and  more  directly,  remorselessly,  into  his  mind  that  he  had 


242 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


missed  the  one  thing  he  would  have  held  most  dear  in  life ; that  it 
was  still  there  within  sight  and  reach  of  him,  but  as  unattainable  as 
though  divided  from  him  by  impassable  mountains  or  by  death  itself? 
The  grave  could  not  remove  it  from  him  more  utterly  than  it  was 
removed.  For  a moment  his  heart  failed  him  and  gave  way.  He 
came  to  a dead  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  vast,  dim,  lonely  park  ; 
came  to  a stand,  and  looked  across  the  scene  and  up  to  the  sky  in 
which  no  faintest  light  of  star  was  to  be  seen.  Then  he  flung  his 
right  arm  wildly  up,  and  a sudden  cry,  an  inarticulate,  convulsive 
burst  of  emotion  came  from  him.  It  relieved  him ; it  roused  him. 
He  looked  quickly  around  in  all  directions  and  peered  through  the 
mist,  fearing  he  might  have  been  seen  by  some  curious  eye.  There  was 
no  one  near.  One  should  have  been  very  near  to  see  him  and  his  action 
on  such  a night.  No  sound  was  to  be  heard  but  the  roll  of  distant 
carriages  and  the  rattle  of  far-off  cabs.  If  he  had  been  seen — the 
great  tribune  of  the  people,  the  strong  man,  the  leader  of  democracy  ; 
if  he  had  been  seen  to  come  to  a sudden  stand  in  the  centre  of  Hyde 
Park,  and  fling  up  his  arm  like  a man  in  a melodrama ; if  he  had  been 
heard  to  utter  a cry  of  passion  or  pain,  what  would  people  have  said  ? 
Morse  found  grim  amusement  in  the  question.  It  was  not  likely  to 
occur  again  very  soon  he  thought ; it  had  not  happened  before.  Yet 
he  took  account  of  it ; it  showed  him  something  in  himself  of  which 
he  had  not  had  full  perception  up  to  that  moment.  It  gave  him  pause. 
It  was  as  when  a man  who  has  hitherto  lived  in  unbroken  health,  un- 
conscious of  the  very  existence  of  lungs  and  digestion  and  so  forth, 
suddenly  finds  that  some  power  or  nerve  or  faculty  has  failed  him ; 
has  failed  him  once,  and  may  therefore  fail  him  again  and  again.  He 
is  not  dismayed  ; he  will  not  make  too  much  of  it;  but  the  thing  has 
happened,  and  is  a new  and  an  ominous  experience.  So  Morse  felt 
about  his  sudden  outburst  of  emotion.  Then  he  set  himself  against 
the  wind  and  rain,  got  his  hat  firmly  on  his  head,  and  strode  forward 
in  the  direction  of  Park  Lane — to  all  outward  seeming  just  the  man  he 
was  before. 


CHAPTEP  XXX. 

MASTERSON  AT  HOME. 

Morse  was  not  a little  surprised  one  morning  to  receive  an  early  visit 
from  the  young  foreign  Envoy  who  has  been  already  mentioned  more 
than  once  in  these  pages. 

“ You  are  a man  much  pressed  by  affairs,  Mr.  Morse,”  he  began,  in 
English  which  was  remarkable  clear,  and  for  the  most  part  correct, 
although  strained  through  the  sieve  of  a foreigner’s  mental  translation. 
“ So  am  I.  You  may  be  sure  when  I come  to  take  up  your  time  it  is 
not  for  the  prunes,  as  Frenchmen  say.” 

“I  am  glad  to  see  you,”  Morse  answered.  “I  should  be  all  the 
more  glad  if  I could  think  that  you  came  to  see  me ; I mean  for  the 


MASTERS  ON  AT  HOME . 


243 


sake  of  seeing  me  and  having  a talk.  But,  of  course,  I know  you 
don’t.”  Morse  and  the  young  Envoy  had  taken  a liking  one  to  the 
other,  and  both  knew  it. 

“Ah!  we  are  far  too  busy,  you  and  I,  for  long  friendly  talks.  We 
have  to  leave  that  to  happier  men.  No ; I have  something  to  say  to 
you ; something  for  your  particular  hearing.  Well,  I was  at  one  oi  your 
friend  Masterson’s  meetings  last  night.  I like  to  see  things  for  myself, 
and  so  I went  down.  It  was  far  away  in  the  East  End.  I know  you 
like  Masterson  ; and  for  your  sake  I wish  him  well,  although  I cannot 
have  any  sympathy  for  a man  who  could  think  of  putting  himself  at 
the  head  of  an  anarchist  mob  whom  he  is  pleased  to  call  ‘ the  people.’ 
However,  that  is  not  the  point.  The  point  is,  that  I think  I recognized 
among  his  foreign  associates  two  or  three  men  whose  faces  are  familiar 
to  me.” 

“ Yes  ?”  Somehow  Morse  seemed  to  know  what  was  coming. 

“Yes;  I think  they  are  men  who  are  or  were  employed  in  the 
service  of  our  secret  police.” 

Morse  might  well  have  exclaimed,  “ Oh,  my  prophetic  soul ! ” He 
listened  without  interruption,  but  with  the  deepest  attention  and  even 
anxiety. 

“ I think  so ; yes,  I think  so.  Now,  I do  not  know  why  these 
men  were  there  or  why  they  should  not  be  there ; I do  not  know  if 
they  were  there  on  their  own  account,  or  were  commissioned  for  some 
purpose  to  go  there  ; I know  nothing  ; I shall  not  make  any  inquiry. 
I am  here  a special  envoy  for  one  single  purpose ; with  one  mandate. 
I concern  myself  about  nothing  else ; I should  have  no  right  even  to 
ask  questions  about  anything  else.  I only  tell  you  this  in  the  thought 
that  if  you  desired  you  might  give  your  friend  a caution.  Of  one 
thing  I am  profoundly  assured — that  my  Government  have  no  wish 
to  injure  him  more  than  he  is  already  injuring  himself;  they  care  not 
for  him  as  a man,  and  think  not  of  him.  I am  equally  convinced  that 
they  have  nothing  but  the  highest  consideration,  respect,  admiration 
for  you,  Mr.  Morse.  In  putting  you  on  your  guard,  therefore,  and 
enabling  you,  perhaps,  to  put  him  on  his  guard,  I cannot  be  crossing 
any  purpose  of  my  Government,  if  any  purpose  there  is.  But  you 
must  remember  I am  taking  a bold  step  ; it  is  a responsibility  ; and  I 
ask  of  you  the  utmost  secrecy,  consistent  with  your  taking  thought 
for  yourself  and  giving  your  wild-healed  friend  a caution.” 

“ What  possible  object  could  your  Government  have ” 

“ Perhaps  they  have  not  any ; or,  perhaps,  they  only  wish  to  be 
well  informed.  Perhaps  these  men  were  sent  to  watch  some  of  our 
Nihilists,  whom  your  people  obligingly  shelter  here  in  London.  I 
cannot  say  ; I do  not  know  ; I do  not  even  try  to  guess.  Now  I ask 
pardon  for  having  disturbed  you,  and  taken  up  some  of  your  time 
perhaps  for  nothing;  nothing  at  all.  The  gracious  Lady  Betty  is 
well,  I hope  ? Is  she  yet  in  town  ? No  ? ” 

Morse  did  not  try  to  bring  the  Envoy  back  to  the  subject  of  their 
conversation.  He  knew  the  attempt  would  be  useless.  A few  words 


2U 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


of  conversation  on  general  subjects  were  interchanged,  and  then  the 
Envoy  took  his  leave. 

Morse  felt  deeply  grateful  for  the  kindness  which  had  been  shown 
by  this  singular  warning.  It  seemed  to  him  likely  that  the  foreign 
police  agents,  if  they  were  such,  were  sent  over  to  watch  the  doings  of 
continental  anarchists  and  Nihilists,  rather  than  with  any  view  to 
Masterson’s  agitation.  Still,  if  it  was  the  fact,  as  he  had  himself 
already  suspected,  that  some  of  Masterson’s  associates  were  not  the 
revolutionary  agitators  they  professed  to  be,  but  were  actually  in  the 
employment  of  a foreign  police,  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
Masterson  should  have  warning  of  it.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost; 
it  was  not  a matter  for  letter- writing  or  telegraphing,  “I  must  go 
myself;  I must  find  Masterson,  and  tell  him  at  once.”  In  less  than 
five  minutes  from  the  departure  of  the  Envoy,  Morse  found  himself  at 
the  door  of  Masterson’s  house. 

The  house  in  which  Masterson  lived  stood  in  a great  sombre  street 
which  had  been  fashionable  in  its  day,  and  that  day  was  rather  recent. 
Fashion,  however,  had  suddenly  receded  from  it,  and  already  it  was 
being  assailed  at  its  extremities,  as  human  bodies  are,  by  the  first 
evidences  of  entire  decay.  Shops  were  beginning  saucily  to  appear 
under  the  entablatures  of  what  had  lately  been  private  dwelling-houses 
of  stately  and  forbidding  aspect.  Masterson’s  house  was  a large  heavy 
building  wuth  a great  absorbing  porch.  Its  broad  flight  of  steps 
brought  at  once  to  the  mind  a picture  of  well-calved  footmen  running 
up  and  down  and  at  each  ascent  knocking  portentous  double  knocks. 
No  footman  now  lifted  that  solid  knocker  of  ancient  bronze;  no 
carriage  stopped  in  front  of  that  door ; nor  was  the  door  ever  opened 
by  any  pampered  menial  in  livery  and  powder.  The  door,  indeed, 
stood  partly  open  when  Morse  reached  it ; and  he  was  in  some  doubt 
whether  he  ought  to  knock  or  to  walk  boldly  in.  Not  knowing,  how- 
ever, where  to  go  if  he  did  walk  in,  he  knocked,  and  waited  for  an 
answer.  No  answer  came,  and  so  he  knocked  again.  Yet  no  answer- 
ing form  appeared;  and  then  he  pushed  the  door  a little  more  open, 
and  entered  a great  stone-flagged  hall.  The  hall  was  without  carpet 
or  rug  of  any  kind,  and  echoed  dismally  to  every  tread  of  Morse’s  feet. 
Vast  stone  staircases  mounted  upwards,  but  Morse  felt  some  hesitation 
about  venturing  on  an  ascent  into  the  unknown  regions  above.  He 
had  some  dim  recollection  of  Masterson’s  study,  a small,  or  compara- 
tively small,  room — none  of  the  chambers  in  that  mansion  were  really 
small — on  the  ground  floor  at  the  back.  He  made  for  this  room,  and 
found  it.  Its  door  was  open ; and  on  looking  in  he  saw  ample  evidence 
of  its  still  being  used  by  Masterson  as  his  study.  There  was  a huge 
desk  of  antique  and  inconvenient  form ; there  were  two  or  three  aged 
and  decrepit  chairs,  on  which,  apparently,  no  one  was  expected  to  sit, 
for  they  were  heaped  and  stacked  with  blue-books  and  newspapers. 
There  were  pens  and  ink-pots  on  the  desk ; and  there  were  pigeon- 
holes crammed  with  letters,  many  of  them  on  foreign  paper  and  in 
foreign  languages.  There  were  newspapers  stuffed  into  open  drawers 


MASTERS  ON  AT  HOME . 


245 

- -newspapers,  many  of  which  gave  out  that  queer,  damp,  musty  scent 
which  is  exhaled  by  the  journals  that  come  to  us  from  India  and  other 
parts  of  the  East. 

Morse  shook  his  head  sadly  as  he  noticed  that  there  were  various 
specimens  of  weapons  scattered  here  and  there,  and  many  models  in 
plaster  and  cork  of  the  most  approved  fashion  of  street  barricade,  with 
pamphlets  containing  instructions  as  to  the  readiest  way  of  fashioning 
your  barricade  out  of  the  simplest  materials,  and  the  materials  most 
nearly  at  hand.  There  were  two  or  three  specimen  hooks  which  at 
tirst  puzzled  Morse  not  a little.  They  were  not  much  larger  than 
ordinary  button-hooks,  but  they  were  sharp  of  edge  and  keen  of  point. 
One,  however,  guided  him  as  to  its  explanation,  for  it  was  lying  on  a 
little  pamphlet  or  treatise  in  French  which  professed  to  teach  the 
construction  and  use  of  the  implements  most  serviceable  for  the 
sudden  cutting  of  the  reins  of  cavalry  horses,  and  thus  placing  the 
riders  of  the  steeds  at  the  mercy  of  a people  rising  in  their  wrath  and 
their  majesty  and  their  might.  From  a hasty  glance  at  a paper  lying 
open  on  the  desk,  Morse  saw  that  some  association  or  other  had  been 
offering  a reward  for  the  best  design  for  some  implement  which  could 
enable  the  aforesaid  people  in  the  same  state  of  uprisen  and  righteous 
anger  to  twist  by  one  single  sudden  wrench  the  bayonet  of  despotism 
from  the  gun-barrel  of  despotism’s  hireling,  the  soldier. 

Morse’s  heart  sank  within  him  at  the  sight  of  these  evidences  of 
preparation  for  “ the  revolution.”  But  his  heart  only  sank  because  he 
looked  on  them  as  mere  evidences  of  the  infatuation  into  which  his 
old  friend  was  dropping  deeper  and  deeper  every  day.  He  did  not 
attach  the  slightest  importance  to  them  as  proofs  of  any  deep-laid 
revolutionary  plot  against  which  it  behoved  society  to  be  on  its  guard. 
Morse  had  not  the  slightest  faith  in  Masterson’s  revolution.  He  had 
no  faith  in  it,  and  he  was  not  afraid  of  it.  He  justly  thought  that  he 
understood  the  temper  and  the  feelings  of  the  English  working- 
classes  on  the  whole  much  better  than  Masterson  did ; and  he  did  not 
believe  that  there  was  among  them  the  making  of  a political  or  social 
revolution ; at  all  events  as  yet.  It  had  occurred  to  him  more  than 
once  that  if  England  were  to  be  drawn  into  a great  foreign  war  by  a 
Minister  who  was  supposed  to  be  acting  under  the  influence  of  the 
Court,  and  if  England  were  to  sustain  one  great  defeat  to  begin  with, 
a sudden  republican  revolution  might  be  the  result.  But  even  in  that 
case  he  felt  convinced  that  poor  Masterson’s  melodramatic  preparations, 
his  treatises  on  barricades,  and  his  weapons  for  cutting  bridle-reins 
and  twisting  bayonets,  would  count  for  next  to  nothing. 

Meanwhile  nobody  appeared  to  be  corning,  and  Morse  thought  it 
about  time  to  invite  some  attendance.  The  best  thing,  he  supposed, 
would  be  to  ring  the  bell  in  this  study  of  Masterson’s.  No  movement 
could  be  more  natural  certainly ; but  in  this  instance  no  movement 
could  be  less  practicable ; for  the  bell-rope  had  long  since  fallen  down, 
and  was  lying  in  a dusty  little  coil  near  the  chimney-piece,  looking 
like  a snake  that  had  just  crept  out  of  a dust-bin  in  time  to  give  up 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE J 


246 

the  ghost  on  a hearthrug.  Morse  was  thinking  whether  it  would  not 
be  well  to  go  in  lor  the  melodramatic  after  a fashion  in  keeping  with 
the  place  and  its  suggestions,  and  shout,  “ Hallo,  house  there!”  after 
the  ways  of  the  imitation  Elizabethan  stage.  He  heard  voices  every 
now  and  then  upstairs ; the  voices  chiefly  of  women,  and  sometimes, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  the  wailing  of  children.  The  house  was  not 
deserted;  that  was  one  comfort.  Was  he  to  shout?  Was  he  to 
mount  the  stairs  and  explore  for  himself?  Was  he  to  go  away  and 
write  to  Masterson  and  ask  him  to  appoint  an  interview  somewhere  ? 
While  he  was  debating  these  questions,  finding  the  situation  at  once 
odd,  interesting,  and  uncomfortable,  he  suddenly  heard  a hasty  step 
outside,  and  Masterson  himself  appeared  at  the  study  door. 

The  socialist  chief  seemed  surprised  and  a good  deal  embarrassed 
at  the  sight  of  Morse.  Morse  hastened  to  explain  that  he  had  intruded 
into  the  study  only  because  he  could  not  find  any  one  to  direct  him 
where  he  ought  to  go. 

“Yes,  yes,”  Masterson  said,  still  a little  embarrassed;  “we  are 
rather  an  irregular  sort  of  household  here;  always  more  or  less  out 
of  order,  as  you  see — as  you  see!  Well,  and  how  is  Lady  Betty? 
And  how  are  things  going?  Sit  down,  Morse;  sit  down,  my  dear 
fellow ; if  you  can  find  a chair — if  you  can  find  a chair.” 

While  Masterson  was  speaking  he  kept  glancing  quickly  and  un- 
easily at  the  door,  as  if  in  fear  of  some  unwelcome  intrusion. 

“ Thanks,”  Morse  answered.  “ Never  mind  about  a chair;  I am  all 
right.  I have  to  put  in  so  much  sitting  in  my  life  that  I like  to 
stand  when  I get  the  chance.  No,  never  mind  removing  your  papers ; 
let  them  stay  as  they  are.  I have  to  go  off  almost  at  once ; I only 
came  to  say ” 

Just  at  this  moment  the  clack  of  a woman’s  shoes  was  heard  on  the 
stairs  and  near  the  door,  and  in  a moment  the  wearer  of  the  clacking 
shoes  made  her  appearance  in  the  study.  She  was  a tall,  harsh- 
featured,  augul  ir  old  lady,  with  thin  white  hair,  and  she  was  dressed 
in  a gown  of  severe  and  unlovely  black  stuff. 

“Leaving  the  hall  door  open  again,  Mr.  Masterson!  Well,  I never 
saw  such  a man ! As  if  there  were  no  thieves  and  robbers  about,  out- 
side the  house  as  well  as  within.” 

Masterson  smiled  a distressed  sort  of  smile.  “I  am  afraid,  Mrs. 
Grounds,”  he  said,  “ that  we  haven’t  much  in  this  house  to  tempt  any 
thief  who  happens  to  be  possessed  of  a sagacious  mind.  Let  me  intro- 
duce you,  Morse.  This  is  Mrs.  Grounds,  a dear  old  friend  of  mine, 
widow  of  a very  dear  old  friend  of  mine ; and  she  is  kind  enough  to 
act  as  housekeeper  for  me,  and  try  to  maintain  something  like  order 
in  this  house ; in  which  I am  afraid  she  is  not  allowed  much  chance  of 
being  very  success lul.” 

“No,  indeed,”  Mrs.  Grounds  assented  with  a series  of  severe  and 
Jove-like  noddmgs  of  the  head ; “ you  are  quite  right  there,  Mr.  Mas- 
terson. What  with  one  socialist  family  sick  on  the  drawing-room 
floor,  and  a socialist  baby  just  brought  into  this  wicked  world  on  the 


MASTERS  ON  AT  HOME. 


247 


floor  above;  and  a colony  of  Nihilists,  and  I don’t  know  what  other 
enemies  of  the  public  peace  established  in  the  attics,  and  a few  nigger 
minstrels,  or  persons  looking  like  nigger  minstrels,  on  the  kitchen 
level,  there  isn’t  much  likelihood  certainly  of  my  being  able  to  keep 
order.  Is  this  gentleman  staying  for  luncheon,  Mr.  Masterson?  I 
dare  say  he  is.  Or  for  dinner,  perhaps?  And  there  is  nothing  fit  to 
eat  in  this  house,  I can  tell  you,  and  no  time  to  get  anything;  for  the 
butcher  won’t  bring  what’s  been  ordered  before  six  o’clock,  and  it  will 
be  rather  late  for  ordering  anything  else  at  that  time.” 

“No,  Mrs.  Grounds,  don’t  be  alarmed,”  Morse  said,  with  a smile; 
“I  couldn’t  stay  for  luncheon  even  if  Masterson  were  to  ask  me; 
which  he  hasn’t  done,  I can  assure  you.” 

“ I am  afraid  Mr.  Morse  would  not  care  much  for  our  style  of  enter- 
tainment in  this  house,  Mrs.  Grounds,”  Masterson  said,  with  an  effort 
to  be  pleasant.  “ This  is  Mr.  Morse,  Mrs.  Grounds,  the  future  Prime 
Minister  of  England,  people  say.” 

“Well,  I’m  sure,  Mr.  Masterson,  I never  said  he  wasn’t,”  the  good 
Mrs.  Grounds  graciously  replied.  “I  wish,  sir,  when  you  do  become 
Prime  Minister,  you  would  do  something,  bring  in  some  law  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  to  save  honest  decent  English  folk  from  being  eaten 
out  of  house  and  home  by  foreign  conspirators  of  all  sorts.  I wish 
you  would  pass  some  law,  sir,  to  put  Mr.  Masterson,  as  he  is  a friend 
of  yours,  back  into  the  possession  of  his  right  senses.  I don’t  see 
what  is  the  use  of  a Government  at  all,  if  it  can’t  do  something  to 
save  its  friends  from  being  beggared  and  brought  to  the  workhouse. 
Excuse  me,  sir,  if  I talk  too  freely — a poor  old  widow  woman  offering 
her  advice  to  a great  man ; but,  as  you  are  a friend  of  Mr.  Masterson, 
perhaps  you  won’t  take  it  altogether  amiss  of  me.” 

“Well,  well,  Mrs.  Grounds,”  Masterson  tried  to  intervene  in  a tone 
half  vexed,  half  timid,  “ Mr.  Morse  won’t  care  to  hear  any  more  of  all 
this.” 

“ Excuse  me,  sir,”  Mrs.  Grounds  replied  severely,  “ I should  leave 
Mr.  Morse  to  speak  for  himself  ou  that  head,  sir,  if  you  please.  I dare 
say  he  knows  his  own  mincl.” 

“I  know  my  own  mind  concerning  our  friend  Masterson  quite  well, 
Mrs.  Grounds,”  Morse  said  good-humouredly ; “ and  I fancy  you  and 
I would  agree  pretty  well  on  the  subject  we  have  been  talking  about, 
I have  scolded  Mr.  Masterson  many  a time.” 

“ You  didn’t  scold  any  sense  into  him,  I’m  afraid,  sir?” 

“Mrs.  Grounds  evidently  does  not  believe  much  in  your  revolution 
Masterson  ? ” Morse  said,  with  a smile. 

“Revolution?  Social  revolution?”  Mrs.  Grounds  said  with  a voice 
expressive  of  boundless  scorn.  “ I’d  revolutionize  them,  if  I had  my 
way.  A pack  of  lazy  London  louts  that  wouldn’t  do  a decent  stroke 
of  work  if  they  could;  and  a gang  of  dirty  long-haired  foreigners  tnat 
come  over  here  to  escape  the  galleys  in  their  own  country — which  they 
richly  deserve  I’m  sure;  and  I only  wish  we  had  the  galleys  here 
ready  for  them ” 


248 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE : 


“ Come,  come,  come ! Mrs.  Grounds,”  Masterson  interposed,  with 
knitted  eyebrows  and  eyes  that  began  to  flash  ominously. 

“Come,  come,  come!  Mr.  Masterson.  I don’t  mind  about  ‘Come, 
come,  come  ! ’ I only  wish  you  would  say,  ‘ Go,  go,  go ! * to  the  lot  of 
thorn.  Why  must  they  instal  themselves  in  this  house,  Mr.  Morse, 
I ask  you,  sir,  as  a man  who  knows  things  and  understands  things? 
Can’t  they  revolutionize  without  eating  him  out  of  house  and  home? 
Have  they  no  lodgings  of  their  own  ? 1 assure  you,  Mr.  Morse,  that 

unfortunate  man  hasn’t  at  this  present  moment  a bed  to  sleep  in.  He 
has  not , sir.  He  has  given  it  up  to  a socialist  friend  and  the  socialist 
friend’s  wife — I only  hope  she  is  his  wife ” 

“ Now,  now,  now  ! ” Masterson  ejaculated  impatiently. 

“ Now,  now,  now ! Yes.  I’m  talking  of  now,  now,  now.  I am  tell- 
ing Mr.  Morse  of  what  is  going  on  this  very  moment  while  we  stand 
and  talk  here.  Mr.  Morse,  I dare  say  you  know  that  this  unfortunate 
man  had  a fine  property  once,  and  that  he  has  muddled  it  all  away  on 
his  revolutions  and  his  conspirators ; and  he’ll  die  in  a workhouse,  so 
he  will ! ” 

“ Oh,  it’s  all  absurdity,”  Masterson  hurriedly  struck  in.  “ It’s 
nothing  like  so  bad  as  that,  Morse,  I can  assure  you.  My  good  friend, 
Mrs.  Grounds,  is  too  anxious  about  my  interests,  and  she  exaggerates 
things.  You  see,  it’s  this  way ; I come  upon  a man  who  has  good  and 
true  ideas  and  who  has  the  great  gift  of  being  able  to  talk  to  his  fellow- 
men  in  language  that  goes  home  to  them — it’s  a rare  faculty  that, 
Morse,  as  you  know  well  in  your  House  of  Commons — and  I want  to 
make  use  of  him.  I set  him  to  address  a meeting  in  the  park  on  the 
Sunday.  Very  good  ; what  happens  then  ? His  employer,  perhaps, 
is  some  wretched  petty  trader  with  all  the  meanness  of  the  greatest 
capitalist  about  him.  He  sends  for  my  friend  and  discharges  him. 
What  can  I do  ? I can’t  leave  that  poor  fellow  and  his  wife  and  his 
little  ones  out  in  the  cold.  Now,  can  I ? Could  you  ? Would  you  ? 
There  it  is ; that’s  the  whole  thing.” 

“But  don’t  they  ever  mean  to  do  a stroke  of  work  again?”  Mrs. 
Grounds  sharply  demanded. 

“ Yes ; that  is  a question  I was  going  to  put,”  Morse  said.  “ I quite 
accept  your  point  of  view,  Masterson;  but,  then,  how  will  it  be  if 
these  men  get  into  the  way  of  merely  living  on  you — quartering  their 
wives  and  their  families  on  you  ? How  it  you  are  converting  them 
from  workers  into  spouters  first,  and  paupers  afterwards  ? ” 

“ Spouters ! Paupers  ! ” Masterson  exclaimed.  “ I wish  you  knew 
them,  Morse.  You  mustn’t  really  judge  of  my  fellow-workers  by  any 
experiences  drawn  from  your  House  of  Commons  and  the  dull  idlers 
and  bloated  capitalists  and.  heartless  spouters  who  belong  to  it.  There 
isn’t  one  of  the  friends  whom  I shelter  in  this  house  who  is  not  heart 
and  soul  in  the  people’s  cause,  and  who  would  not  work  his  fingers  to 
the  bone  rather  than  accept  one  penny  of  private  charity  or  parish 
relief.” 

“ What  d’ye  call  this  but  private  charity  ? ” Mrs.  Grounds  expostu- 


MASTERS  ON  AT  HOME . 


249 

lated.  And  she  pointed  first  up  and  then  down  to  denote  that  what 
she  meant  by  “ this,”  was  the  occupation  of  Masterson’s  house,  up- 
stairs, downstairs,  and  in  what  used  to  be  my  lady’s  chamber. 

“It  isn’t  private  charity,”  Masterson  sail,  turning  on  her  with 
flashing  eyes.  “ It  is  a friend  and  colleague  who  still  happens  to  have 
a house,  such  as  it  is,  and  invites  his  less  fortunate  friend  and  colleague 
to  come  and  stay  a few  nights  with  him.  If  Mr.  Morse  asks  me  to 
dine  with  him,  and  I go,  am  I accepting  charity  from  him  ? ” 

“Ah,  go  along,”  Mrs.  Grounds  disdainfully  murmured.  “I  do  declare 
the  man  is  getting  off  his  head  altogether.” 

“ You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Mrs.  Grounds ; you  ought 
indeed,”  Masterson  exclaimed. 

“I  ought  to  be,  perhaps,  but  I certainly  ain’t,”  was  Mrs.  Grounds’ 
reply;  “not  of  that  anyhow.  But  it  isn’t  any  use  talking.”  She 
swept  in  wrathful  majesty  out  of  the  room. 

“You  mustn’t  mind  her,  Morse;  you  musn’t  mind  her,”  Masterson 
said,  with  an  effort  to  be  cheerful.  “ It’s  all  because  of  her  interest  in 
me.  She  is  a good  soul.” 

“ Any  one  can  see  that,”  Morse  said ; “and  I am  not  certain  that 
there  is  not  a good  deal  of  sound  common  sense  in  what  she  has  been 
saying.  Tell  me — you  said  she  is  a widow  of  an  old  friend  of  yours? 
Who  was  he — did  I know  him  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know ; you  may  have  seen  him.  He  was  my  father’s 
valet;  a most  faithful  servant;  and  he  was  very  fond  of  me  when  I 
was  a boy.  He  travelled  with  us  a good  deal,  and  1 may  well  call  him 
a friend.  When  he  married  this  poor  woman,  they  bought  a house 
and  let  lodgings  there.  But  things  didn’t  go  well ; and  he  died  some 
years  ago.  My  house  was  empty  then,  and  I took  her  to  act  as  house- 
keeper for  me;  and  she  has  done  so  ever  since.  And  of  course  she 
has  a temper  and  says  sharp  things.  She  can’t  help  it,  you  know — 
we  have  all  our  little  ways ; but  she  is  eaten  up  with  the  zeal  of  my 
house,”  Masterson  added,  smiling  faintly.  “ So  I think,  Morse,  I must 
just  let  her  have  her  way.” 

“ But  it  seems  to  me  that  that  is  the  very  thing  you  do  not  do ; you 
don’t  let  her  have  her  way.” 

“ Oh,  about  sheltering  these  poor  people — these  poor  friends  of  mine  ? 
Ho,  no;  I couldn’t  do  that.  That  is  a matter  of  principle,  of  duty,  of 
friendship — I couldn’t  give  way  on  that,  Morse;  and  besides,  she 
exaggerates.  Yes,  yes ; she  exaggerates,  I assure  you.  Tilings  are 
not  nearly  as  bad  as  she  would  give  you  to  understand.  I am  not  by 
any  means  the  simple-hearted  philanthropist  she  would  make  me  out. 
Ho,  no ; oh  no ; I know  very  well  what  I am  doing,  Morse.  I keep 
a pretty  sharp  look-out,  I can  tell  you.  I am  not  at  all  a man  to  be 
taken  in.” 

“About  that,”  said  Morse,  with  a smile,  “I  don’t  feel  quite  so  sure; 
and  that  just  brings  me  to  the  business  about  which  I have  come 
intruding  on  you  to-day.” 

“Intruding!  Morse,  my  very  dear  friend,  please  don’t  use  such  a 

17 


250 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE” 


word  as  that.  You  are  always  welcome  here  ; ” and  Masterson  spoke 
with  the  graciousness  of  a prince  doing  the  honours  of  a palace. 

“Well,  I am  afraid  I had  only  too  good  reason  for  suspecting  that 
some  of  your  foreign  associates  are  not  exactly  what  they  profess  to 
be,  Masterson ; and  I came  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against  them. 
I have  good  authority  for  what  I say.” 

Masterson’s  brow  darkened.  “ I think  we  had  better  not  approach 
that  subject,  Morse.  You  know  we  can’t  agree.  I am  in  possession 
of  all  your  views.  You  are  a politician,  and  you  distrust  men.  I 
know  these  men.  Let  us  not  speak  on  this  painful  subject  any  more.” 
“ But  I am  bound  to  tell  you  what  I have  heard.  You  must  listen 
to  me.  Come,  dear  old  friend,  don’t  be  quite  so  obstinate.  At  all 
events,  listen  to  what  I have  to  say.  I have  good  reason  for  saying  it.” 
Masterson  stiffly  assented ; and  Morse  told  him  what  he  had  heard, 
and  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  had  heard  it  from  one  who  at 
least  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  Masterson  listened  with  con- 
straint rather  than  patience  until  Morse  had  quite  finished — Morse’s 
story  was  not  long — and  then  he  broke  out. 

“ I was  warned  of  this,”  he  exclaimed  excitedly.  “ I may  say  I 

knew  it  would  come ; I was  expecting  it ” 

“ Expecting  what?  Expecting  my  visit  and  my  warning?” 

“ Expecting  that  somebody — not  you,  certainly,  my  dear  Morse,  but 
somebody— would  come  and  tell  me  these  men  were  police  agents  and 
spies.  Yes;  I was  warned;  but  I never  thought  the  agents  of  that 
brutal  despotism  could  have  got  over  you.  No  ; that  I did  not  expect. 
And  so  you,  even  you,  are  a victim  to  their  deceitfulness,  and  are  made 
the  unconscious  tool  of  their  cruelty  ? ” 

Nothing  that  poor  Masterson  could  say  could  possibly  offend  Morse. 
He  was  concerned  for  his  ruined  old  friend ; was  anxious  to  serve  him ; 
to  save  him ; and  it  was  nothing  to  him  whether  Masterson  took  his 
intervention  in  good  part  or  not,  thanked  him  or  reviled  him.  He 
listened  in  perfect  good-humour  to  Masterson’s  wild  outpourings. 

“ These  men  themselves  told  me,”  Masterson  went  on  to  say,  u that 
the  minions  of  the  brutal  despotism  which  grinds  down  their  country 
would  strive  to  injure  them  here  by  spreading  abroad  the  report  that 
they  were  creatures  of  its  own  authority  and  in  its  accursed  pny. 
They  warned  me  long  ago  of  this  odious  and  futile  artifice.  How  you 
could  have  been  talked  over,  Morse,  is  more  than  I can  understand. 
But  you  never  much  believed  in  my  organization ; you  never  trusted 
my  judgment  of  men;  you  seem  to  me  to  have  just  the  ordinary 
Englishman’s  dislike  and  distrust  of  foreigners.  Of  course,  I am  per- 
sonally much  obliged  to  you,  Morse ; and  it  shows  your  friendly  feeling 
towards  myself,  and  all  that ; but  you  are  mistaken  about  these  men. 
Or,  rather,  you  are  misinformed ; you  are  deceived  by  some  who  have 
a motive  in  deceiving  you.  I am  sorry ; I wish  you  could  better 
understand  the  feelings  of  that  brotherhood  which  surpasses  narrow 
nationalism ; but  no  man  keeps  up  the  freshness  of  his  heart  long  who 
sits  in  the  House  of  Commons.” 


“THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  LIBERTY .”  251 

“ Then  my  warning  is  quite  thrown  away  ? ” Morse  said,  moving  as 
if  to  go. 

“Not  its  kindness,  Morse;  not  its  kindness;  that  is  felt  and  appre- 
ciated. But  I can  see  through  the  crafts  that  have  apparently  blinded 
you ; and  when  I know  men  I trust  them.  I suppose  it  would  be  use- 
less for  me  to  press  you  to  join  us  in  our  great  peace  demonstration  ? ” 
“ Quite  useless/’  Morse  said.  “ I don’t  like  some  of  your  company, 
Masterson ; and  that’s  the  truth  of  it.  Besides,  I am  not  certain  that 
you  will  not  do  more  harm  than  good  as  things  stand.  If  there  is 
anything  like  a row,  it  wdl  bring  discredit  on  your  whole  movement; 
and  any  little  gang  of  ruffians  may  get  up  a row.” 

“ Our  movement,”  Masterson  said,  drawing  himself  up  with  an  air 
of  self-asserting  dignity,  “ has  no  ruffians  associated  with  it.  Ruffianism 
stands  back  abashed  before  the  sanctity  of  the  people’s  cause  and  the 
solemn  march  of  the  people’s  movement.” 

“ Yes,”  Morse  said.  “ I am  glad — if  it  be  so.  Good-bye,  old  friend.” 
Masterson  was  softened.  He  gave  his  hand  with  cordiality,  and  the 
friends  parted. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

“the  first  day  of  liberty.” 

The  heart  of  Masterson  swelled  high  within  him  when,  after  a sleepless 
night,  he  rose  on  the  morning  of  the  day  that  was,  he  firmly  believed, 
to  begin  the  new  era  of  international  peace.  He  and  his  associates 
had  arranged  to  get  up  a great  national  demonstration  against  the  war 
policy  of  the  Government  and  of  the  ruling  classes  generally.  The 
demonstration  was  to  begin  by  a monster  meeting,  which  was  to  form 
itself  into  a procession,  representing  all  manner  of  trades  and  associa- 
tions of  working-men  and  democratic  organizations ; and  the  procession 
was  to  march  down  to  the  House  of  Commons  and  endeavour  to  impress 
the  Government  and  the  legislators  with  a sense  of  the  national  will. 

The  procession  was  to  include  foreigners  as  well  as  Englishmen ; for 
was  it  not  a demonstration  in  favour  of  international  peace,  brotherhood, 
and  goodwill?  Masterson’s  much^revolving  mind  had  been  already 
in  advance  making  schemes  for  a like  demonstration  in  Paris,  Berlin, 
Vienna,  and  St.  Petersburg.  He  proposed  to  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  each  demonstration,  and  to  associate  with  him  men  of  divers 
nationalities.  It  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that  the  first  demon- 
stration should  be  made  in  London,  where  there  was  no  likelihood  of 
its  being  prohibited  in  advance.  The  example  of  London  would  show 
that  its  object,  if  it  were  allowed  to  act,  was  only  peace  and  interna- 
tional fraternity  among  all  peoples.  If  emperors  and  kings  would  bar 
the  way,  then  emperors  and  kings  must  take  the  consequences.  The 
true  union  of  peoples  nothing  could  resist. 

Masterson  had  been  growing  more  fanatical  and  more  dreamy  day 


252 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


after  day.  lie  firmly  believed  that  be  had  the  whole  working  popu- 
lation of  England  at  his  back,  and  that  he  was  in  good  faith  offering 
the  Crown  and  the  Government  a last  chance  of  a peaceful  settlement. 
He  could  not  think  but  that  Ministers  would  recognize  the  strength 
of  his  movement  and  the  necessity  for  bowing  before  it.  Should  they 
fail  to  do  so,  then  his  honest  conviction  was  that  by  a mere  demon- 
stration of  the  number  and  majesty  of  the  people  the  monarchy  would 
fall  and  the  republic  be  established.  He  wrote  letters  to  his  friends — 
to  Morse  among  the  rest — this  particular  morning,  and  dated  them, 
“ The  first  day  of  England’s  liberty.”  His  soul  was  filled  with  the 
greatness  of  his  cause  and  of  his  movement.  He  thought  it  nothing 
but  a generous  concession  to  established  institutions  and  ancient 
political  creeds  which  allowed  to  the  Government  and  to  the  monarchy 
itself  one  other  chance  of  existence.  He  vindicated  this  concession 
to  his  own  mind  by  the  thought  of  the  strength  and  magnanimity  of 
the  people. 

“The  English  people  are  strong,”  he  said,  “and  they  know  their 
strength ; they  know,  too,  how  to  be  merciful.’’ 

Some  of  his  more  impatient  followers  chafed  at  what  they  called 
Masterson’s  moderation.  Certain  of  the  foreign  democrats  in  particular 
were  angry  with  him,  and  insisted  that  there  ought  to  be  no  other 
chance  given  to  effete  and  vicious  systems.  Some  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that  Masterson  was  pulling  down  the  international  flag.  Masterson, 
however,  was  determined ; angry  opposition  only  made  him  more  deter- 
mined than  before. 

From  an  early  hour  on  the  momentous  day,  and  from  all  parts  of 
London,  crowds  kept  converging  upon  the  appointed  centre  in  the  park. 

It  was  a curious  and  chaotic  gathering.  Liberty  and  Peace  had 
strange  representatives  hanging  to  their  skirts.  There  was  something 
melancholy  and  picturesque  in  the  sight  of  the  streams  of  poverty- 
stricken  men  and  women  that  trickled  through  the  park  gates  after 
the  more  orderly  array  on  that  grey  December  morning — beery,  red- 
nosed old  men  ; unkempt  street  loiterers,  depraved  and  sickly-looking ; 
impish  gamins ; truculent  roughs  ; coarse  women  in  tattered  clothing ; 
wan-faced,  wistful-eyed  children ; — the  usual  constituents  of  a London 
crowd.  But  this  was  in  some  respects  unlike  a London  crowd;  it 
faintly  suggested  the  call  of  the  tocsin,  the  Ca  Ira , the  slaughter  at 
the  barricades. 

There  were  many  foreigners — wiry  French,  swarthy  Italians,  strange 
long-haired  Germans,  Poles,  Russians, — every  nationality,  it  seemed, 
leavening  the  British  mob.  Some  looked  eager  and  excited,  some 
indifferent.  Most  of  them  gesticulated  more  or  less.  There  was  an  odd 
babel  of  tongues — a good-humoured  buzz,  with  now  and  then  an  omi- 
nous imprecation.  Many  women  had  bright-coloured  skirts  and  shawls 
and  red  head-dresses,  and  there  were  red  flags  waving  here  and  there. 
As  a ray  of  sunshine  broke  the  grey  clouds,  the  flaring  patches  of 
crimson  stood  out  in  vivid  relief.  Some  of  the  better- cl  ad  men  wore 
tri-coloured  scarves,  and  now  and  then  might  be  seen  a musty  bluo 


“ THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  LIBERTY?  253 

nnd  red  uniform.  More  than  one  mounted  man  wore  the  red  cap  of 
Liberty. 

Even  in  the  main  body  of  the  procession  the  foreign  element  was 
also  distinct.  This  was  to  consist  of  the  various  organizations  and 
clubs  we  have  mentioned ; and  these  came  along  in  semi-military  order 
and  array,  generally  with  bands,  and  always  with  a liberal  display  of 
banners  and  gilt  letters  on  white  or  blue  or  red  backgrounds.  There 
were  bands  in  waggonettes  also;  and  there  was  a huge  cart,  a very 
tumbril,  which  bore  enthroned  the  monster  petition.  But,  besides  the 
associations  which  had  an  obvious  and  direct  connection  -with  the 
movement,  there  were  all  manner  of  odd  eccentric  organizations,  which 
seemed  to  have  attached  themselves  to  it  for  no  particular  reason 
whatever  but  because  it  was  to  march,  and  they  thought  they  might 
as  well  be  marching  too.  Not  a crotchet,  not  a craze  the  human  mind 
in  its  queerest  moods  is  capable  of,  that  did  not  seem  eager  to  display 
itself  through  its  representative  organization  there  that  day.  One 
could  understand  the  place  of  the  “ Middle  Clerkenwell  Death-To- 
Ty rants  Brotherhood;”  but  why  the  “Anti-Potato  Association”? 
why  the  “ Anti-Perforated-Postage- stamp  Club  ” ? why  the  “ Woman- 
Not-Man’s  Master  League  ” ? why  the  “ Union  for  the  Prohibition  of 
Smoking  by  Youths  of  Tender  Age”?  why  the  “Sisterhood  for  the 
Suppression  of  Tea-drinking”?  All  these,  and  various  other  equally 
important  bands,  came  tramping  and  drumming  to  the  spot  fixed  for 
the  start,  and  became  part  of  the  English  people  manifesting  itself  in 
all  its  majesty  and  strength.  So,  too,  did  a good  many  of  the  common- 
place roughs.  The  idle  lookers-on,  vast  in  numbers,  made  no  claim  to 
strength  and  majesty. 

The  procession  assembled  in  the  middle  of  Hyde  Park.  It  was  to 
march  along  Piccadilly  and  down  St.  James’s  Street  into  Pall  Mall. 
It  was  to  traverse  Pall  Mall  and  Cockspur  Street  and  pass  into  White- 
hall and  down  Parliament  Street  until  it  reached  Westminster  Palace. 
There  arrived,  it  was  to  disregard  with  noble  calmness  the  rule  which 
forbids  the  assembling  of  great  masses  of  people  too  near  to  the  Houses 
of  Parliament.  In  the  name  of  the  people  and  of  peace  it  was  to  enter, 
occupy,  and  fill  Palace  Yard.  Then  Masterson  proposed  that  he  and  a 
certain  number  of  the  leaders  of  the  movement  should  insist  on  having 
an  interview  with  some  of  the  Ministers  in  the  outer  lobby  and  pre- 
sent the  monster  petition.  That  done,  the  Ministers  were  to  be  invited 
to  come  down  to  the  entrance  of  Westminster  Hall  and  see  for  them- 
selves whether  the  vast  multitude  outside  did  not  amount  to  the 
significance  of  a national  demonstration.  Of  the  strength  of  the 
foreign  contingent — an  argument  in  itself — Masterson  was  not  quite 
fully  aware.  The  Ministers  were  to  be  solemnly  given  to  understand 
that  day  after  day  a procession  as  large  or  larger,  would  come  down  to 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  would  make  formal  protest  against  the 
intended  war,  until  the  Government  should  declare  that  no  war  was 
intended  any  more.  There  was  to  be  no  force  and  no  intimidation ; 
but  the  majesty  of  the  people  was  to  overawe  by  itr  moral  grandeur 


254 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE:' 


the  petty  policy  of  a Court  and  a party.  Should,  however,  the  Minis* 
ters,  ill-advised,  take  steps  to  prevent  the  delegates  of  the  people  from 
entering  the  courtyard  of  the  people’s  palace,  then  the  responsibility 
must  rest  on  the  heads  of  those  who  met  a moral  protestation  by 
forceful  resistance.  Come  what  would,  the  delegates  would  enter 
Palace  Yard  and  demand  speech  of  the  advisers  of  the  Crown. 

The  procession  moved  amid  the  bare  and  leafless  trees  of  the  park. 
Masterson  was  on  horseback.  Upon  his  figure  the  eye  of  the  spec- 
tator instantly  fastened.  A tricoloured  scarf  round  his  waist  repre- 
sented in  some  new  combination  of  hues  universal  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity.  His  lean  nervous  frame,  usually  prematurely  bowed, 
was  erect  now.  The  long  thin  hair,  neglected  of  late,  almost  touched 
his  shoulders.  The  grey  beard  swept  his  chest.  The  whole  face  was 
alight  with  intense  excitement,  and  the  eyes  had  in  them  the  gleam 
which  might  be  seen  in  the  eyes  of  a patriot  or  a martyr. 

As  he  led  the  march  out  of  the  park,  and  surveyed  as  well  as  he 
might  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  following,  he  could  not  help  wish- 
ing that  the  discipline  of  his  national  army  was  a little  better  sus- 
tained ; and  that  there  were  not  so  many  roughs  and  street  arabs  and 
communistic-looking  foreigners  hanging  on  the  skirts  of  the  host. 
There  were  some  banners  flying  too  which  even  he  did  not  greatly 
care  to  see  amid  his  ranks.  There  were  the  flags  of  some  foreign 
revolutionary  clubs,  the  devices  of  which  had  as  much  to  do  with  war 
against  religions  as  with  war  against  kings.  There  were  men  at  the 
head  of  some  of  these  clubs  who  were  well-known  to  have  publicly 
advocated  dynamite  and  the  dagger  as  among  the  legitimate  resources 
of  " The  Revolution.”  But  what  could  be  done  ? After  all,  these 
men  too  belonged  to  the  great  brotherhood  of  humanity.  If  they  went 
too  far  or  moved  in  a wrong  direction,  who  was  responsible  ? Who 
but  the  unauthorized  agents  of  an  anti-popular  and  unnatural  system 
which  ground  the  faces  of  the  poor  and  put  all  true  labour  under  the 
feet  of  the  prince,  the  peer,  and  the  capitalist  ? 

Masterson  had  intended  that  the  army  he  led  should  be  on  this  occa- 
sion a peaceful  array.  He  had  given  orders  that  every  one  was  to 
come  unarmed.  Before  they  had  begun  to  move  on,  some  of  the  more 
trusty  of  his  followers  came  and  told  him  that  a considerable  number 
of  those  forming  the  procession  had  revolvers  and  other  weapons.  One 
very  prudent  adviser  even  talked  of  the  expediency  of  breaking  up 
and  postponing  the  demonstration  altogether.  Masterson  replied  to 
this  timid  counsel  by  giving  the  word  to  march. 

The  day  was  line,  a grey  day,  with  a faint  vaporous  fog  hanging 
over  the  city,  and  veiling  crude  outlines.  The  sun  shone  through  it 
at  intervals  round  and  red.  It  had  been  struggling  all  day  with  the 
December  mist.  As  the  procession  moved,  the  sun  prevailed  at  last, 
and  shone  with  a mild  and  softening  glow  over  the  park  and  the 
streets.  Masterson  hailed  its  light  as  a good  omen.  A few  of  the 
chiefs  and  captains  of  the  movement  rode  with  him,  wearing  scarves 
like  himself,  and  like  him  bearing  neither  stick  nor  stave.  It  was 


THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  LIBERTY.' 


255 

intended  that  men  on  horseback  at  various  intervals  should  keep  the 
line  of  the  procession  dressed  up  and  in  good  order.  The  movement 
was  maintained  fairly  well  in  the  park,  but  disarray  and  even  disorder 
began  to  set  in  the  moment  the  procession  got  into  the  streets.  It 
became  mixed  up  sometimes  inextricably  with  the  rush  of  traffic ; 
here  and  there  it  swept  the  ordinary  lines  of  traffic  along  with  it;  but 
in  other  places  it  broke  confusedly,  hopelessly,  against  some  long  and 
solid  succession  of  vast  waggons  and  ponderous  drays  and  heavy 
crowded  omnibuses.  It  got  into  wrangles  with  drivers  and  policemen 
and  peaceful  wayfarers.  Sometimes  half  the  procession  was  cut  off 
from  the  other  half,  and  trying  to  wait  or  to  hark  back  was  forced 
into  greater  confusion  than  ever.  Tempers  began  to  be  aroused.  The 
ordinary  street  passengers,  detesting  the  whole  thing,  were  wroth  with 
the  authorities  for  not  sweeping  it  off  the  streets  altogether.  There 
were  vehement  little  collisions  with  the  police  here  and  there;  helmets 
were  knocked  off,  truncheons  were  pretty  freely  used,  and  there  were 
broken  heads  before  the  main  body  of  the  procession  had  got  into  St. 
James’s  Street.  The  balconies  and  windows  of  the  clubs  in  St.  James’s 
Street  were  crowded  with  spectators,  all  of  whom,  including  those  at 
the  Devonshire  Club,  the  majority  of  those  in  the  procession  regarded 
as  “ bloated  aristocrats  ” whose  idle  supervision  they  were  disposed  to 
resent.  Sometimes  there  were  hisses  and  groans  from  the  line  of  pro- 
cession as  it  passed  under  unpopular  balconies  and  windows.  Once  or 
twice,  some  rough  or  street  gamin  sent  a stone  flying  at  a window 
pane.  It  was  already  plain  that  the  majestic  and  peaceful  demonstra- 
tion was  in  very  fair  chance  of  turning  into  a disorderly  exhibition  of 
individual  roughness,  bad  temper,  and  incapacity.  Masterson  galloped 
back  several  times  to  rebuke  disorder  and  entreat  forbearance,  in  the 
name  of  the  sovereign  people.  But  already  his  heart  was  sinking 
within  him  at  the  prospect. 

Now  and  again  a party  cry  sounded,  and  the  name  of  some  political 
leader  was  called  out,  generally  with  groans.  Alarm  was  getting 
abroad  Carriages  turned  hastily  into  back  streets.  Ladies’  heads 
appeared  for  a moment  at  brougham  windows,  and  were  withdrawn  in 
terror.  Lady  Betty  Morse  was  one  of  those  whose  carriage  came  in 
the  way  of  the  procession.  She  had  been  shopping,  and  was  returning 
to  Park  Lane.  She  had  heard  nothing  of  the  monster  demonstration. 
There  was  a block  just  where  her  carriage  was  drawn  up,  and  her 
coachman  was  not  able  to  obey  the  order  to  get  quickly  out  of  Picca- 
dilly. The  crowd  thronged  round.  One  or  two  roughs  came  close  to 
the  brougham  windows.  After  her  first  impulse  of  fear,  Lady  Berty 
sat  quite  erect.  She  had  some  of  the  courage  as  well  as  the  piide  of 
race.  A shrill  French  voice  cried  out  “ A bas  les  aristocrats.”  Lady 
Betty  was  not  an  imaginative  person,  but  she  began  to  conjure  up 
visions  of  the  tricoteuses,  and  to  wonder  if  she  were  in  sober  England. 

A dour,  horrible-looking  creature,  who  carried  a crate  containing  iron 
implements  used  in  some  manufacture,  and  who  had  hooked  himself 
on  to  the  procession,  peered  in  at  her  for  a moment,  and  frightened 


256  “THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .” 

her  by  his  glare  of  hatred.  She  heard  him  in  a sullen  tone  addressing 
the  men  near  him.  “ Who  is  it  stops  up  the  roads  and  tramples  on 
the  people?  Damn  the  aristocrats,  with  their  carriages  and  horses 
and  their  sniggering  jiggering  servants.  It’s  them  that  makes  wars 
and  makes  revolutions.  Who  made  the  French  revolution?  Who’s 
making  the  English  one? — What’s  that  ?”  And  he  tore  on,  pressing 
against  the  rushing  throng.  “ Hurrah  for  Morse,  the  people’s  leader ! 
He’s  the  people’s  friend.  No  war,  no  Court ! Morse,  the  republican, 
that’s  the  man  for  us ! ” 

Lady  Betty  heard  her  husband’s  name  caught  up  by  a thousand 
tongues.  What  did  it  mean?  Was  he  inciting  the  English  to  revolt ? 
She  pulled  wildly  at  the  check-string.  A footman  turned  his  scared 
face  down  to  the  glass  in  front  of  the  brougham.  He  dared  not  get  off 
his  perch. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” cried  Lady  Betty.  “ What  has  your  master  to  do 
with  it?  ” 

“ Oh,  my  lady!”  shouted  the  man.  “We  can’t  make  out.  They 
are  saying  it’s  Mr.  Morse  in  one  of  the  balconies,  and  that  he  is  going 
to  speak  to  them.  They’ve  begun  breaking  the  club  windows.  But 
it’s  passing  on,  my  lady.  We  shall  be  able  to  move  in  a minute.” 

Lady  Betty  uttered  a cry  of  bewilderment.  “ Go  home,”  she  cried, 
“ as  quickly  as  you  can.  Turn  down  one  of  the  side  streets.” 

A policeman  caught  the  horses’  heads.  The  way  began  to  clear 
a little.  He  looked  into  the  carriage  to  reassure  its  occupant,  and 
recognized  Lady  Betty.  He  had  seen  her  drop  her  husband  in  Palace 
Yard. 

“ It’s  all  right  for  you  now,  my  lady,”  he  said.  “ They  have  mis- 
taken somebody  for  Mr.  Morse,  and  they  are  shouting  to  him  to 
speak.” 

Lady  Betty  drove  on,  the  frightened  horses  urged  to  speed  by  the 
no  less  frightened  coachman. 

But  the  look  of  terror  did  not  fade  from  Lady  Betty’s  face.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  not  to  be  left  one  shred  of  illusion.  Repub- 
licanism had  come  too  close  to  her  to  keep  any  vestige  of  picturesque- 
ness; to  be  anything  but  a horror.  She  had  heard  her  husband’s 
name  coupled  with  that  of  Masterson,  the  democrat,  heard  him 
acclaimed  by  communists  as  the  people’s  leader,  the  avowed  advocate 
of  a lepublic.  He  the  leader  of  such  brutes  as  these — the  inciter  of  a 
street  riot ! 

She  did  not  know  what  had  happened,  or  try  to  think  what  might 
happen.  She  had  not  imagination  enough  to  prefigure  any  startling 
calamity.  But  she  knew  enough  to  make  her  feel  that  her  little  world 
which  had  been  so  prosperous  was  crumbling  to  atoms.  She  had  a 
wild  longing  to  fly  from  all  that  had  brought  her  trouble,  to  go  back 
to  her  own  old  sphere,  to  seek  the  protection — not  of  her  husband,  he 
had  ranged  himself  on  the  other  side — but  of  the  Court  and  the  aristo- 
crats, to  whose  order  she  belonged,  and  whom  he  hated.  She  had  no 
impulse  to  cast  in  her  lot  with  his  in  the  struggle — if  there  w7as  going 


"THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  LIBERTY .”  257 

to  be  a struggle.  This  shock  showed  her  that  her  natural  tendency 
was  not  to  hold  with  him,  but  to  stand  apart  from  him. 

The  policeman  was  right.  A tall  straight- featured  man  standing  in 
the  balcony  of  a Liberal  club  had  been  mistaken  for  Morse  by  some  of 
the  leaders  in  the  mob.  The  cry  swelled.  A roar  of  enthusiasm  set  in. 

It  was  a long  time  before  the  mistake  was  discovered.  Execrations 
followed  cheers  when  the  man  in  question  withdrew  with  an  air  of 
contempt  into  the  building.  Not  all  Masterson’s  efforts  and  protesta- 
tions could  make  things  clear.  Morse’s  name  was  shouted,  coupled 
with  democratic  cries  and  wild  appeals  that  he  would  show  himself  and 
go  down  with  the  demonstrationists  to  Westminster. 

A group  of  well-dressed  men,  not  yet  in  fear  of  missiles,  came  out  on 
the  balcony  of  a well-known  club,  and  seemed  to  find  considerable 
amusement  in  watching  the  wild  confusion  below.  The  laughter  of 
these  men  excited  the  mob  to  fever  pitch.  In  less  than  a minute  the 
Monster  Peace  Demonstration  had  become  one  of  lawless  riot.  Red 
flags  waved.  The  few  ineffectual  policemen  who  had  gathered  on  the 
skirts  of  the  tumult  were  beaten  down.  Fierce  revolutionary  cries 
sounded;  gravel  and  stones  whizzed  through  the  air.  Then  came  a 
crash  of  breaking  glass.  Every  window  on  the  ground-floor  was  bat- 
tered. Then  an  infuriated  rush  on  to  other  buildings ; more  breaking 
glass — more  ruin  and  destruction. 

Only  when  Masterson  charged  into  the  very  thick  of  the  wreckers, 
and  called  upon  them  to  right  and  left  in  accents  of  passionate  reproach 
and  entreaty  not  to  defeat  the  very  object  of  their  mission  by  this 
display  of  violence,  was  some  sort  of  order  restored. 

By  dint  "of  his  exertion  the  procession  was  induced  to  re-form 
itself,  some  few  knots  of  insurgents  lingering  to  launch  stones  in  an 
aimless  fashion  at  carriages  hurrying  down  the  side  streets,  and  at  the 
windows  of  shops  in  St.  James’s  Street,  then  skurrying  on  to  swell  the 
main  body. 

The  procession  turned  into  Pall  Mall  and  was  passing  the  gates  of 
Marlborough  House.  As  we  have  mentioned  more  than  once,  an  idea 
had  gone  abroad  that  the  war  policy  was  favoured  or  inspired  by  the 
Court;  at  all  events  by  some  of  the  royal  princes.  Many  of  the 
German  democrats  in  particular  were  highly  wroth  with  Royalties. 
As  the  procession  was  passing  the  gates  of  Marlborough  House  some 
groans  and  hisses  were  set  up,  and  these  increased  and  became  tumul- 
tuous. Masterson,  believing  that  comparative  order  had  been  restored, 
and  fully  occupied  in  exhorting  his  own  particular  following,  was  far 
ahead  when  these  sounds  began ; the  main  body  had  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  But  the  rear  of  the  procession  came  to  a sudden  halt  in 
an  irregular  and  spontaneous  way  outside  the  gates,  and  set  up  a 
furious  groaning,  hissing,  and  yelling.  A carriage  was  at  the  gate 
with  some  occupants — ladies,  it  appeared  ; no  one  could  tell  who  they 
were — and  some  alarm  was  felt  by  them,  seemingly ; for  there  wras 
a hasty  knocking  at  the  gate,  and  one  of  the  footmen  ran  and  held 
hasty  counsel  with  a soldier  doing  duty  as  sentry.  The  gate  was  sud- 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


258 

denly  shot  open,  the  carriage  and  its  occupants  absorbed  in  an  instant 
within  its  shelter,  and  the  gates  closed  again  with  a clang.  As  if 
under  the  fear  that  an  attack  of  some  kind  was  to  be  made,  the  two 
sentries  stood  in  front  of  the  closed  gates.  The  mob — for  that  part  of 
the  tail  of  the  procession  which  had  come  to  a stand  in  front  of  Marl- 
borough House  could  now  only  be  called  a mob — seemed  to  resent  this 
idea,  and  began  to  make  demonstrations  of  violence.  The  hisses  and 
groans  were  furiously  repeated,  vituperative  epithets  in  foreign  tongues 
sounding  distinctly,  and  some  hands  from  the  outside  of  the  crowd 
began  to  fling  stones  again.  Some  of  the  stones  broke  a few  panes  of 
glass  in  the  windows  of  a neighbouring  club.  Some  shot  over  the 
gates  of  Marlborough  House,  and,  as  it  was  promptly  reported, 
smashed  several  panes  of  glass  there.  How  the  story  was  passed  on 
so  quickly  no  one  could  tell ; but  the  last  stone  had  hardly  o’erperched 
the  wall  of  Marlborough  House  when  the  news  was  spread  all  over  the 
House  of  Commons  that  an  attack  had  been  made  by  the  mob  on  the 
residence  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  that  the  ladies  of  the  family 
had  been  compelled  to  seek  for  safety.  At  the  same  time  it  is  only 
fair  to  say  that  the  exaggerated  report  reached  our  heroic  mounted 
Quixote  of  democracy,  Masterson,  almost  as  quickly.  Never  in  his 
earlier  years  had  he  made  his  way  across  country  with  greater 
energy  than  he  now  rode  back  to  prevent  outrage  and  disorder  from 
gaining  the  day.  When  he  did  get  back,  he  had  yet  influence  enough 
to  prevail  upon  the  crowd  to  move  on  from  Marlborough  House,  and 
to  endeavour  to  form  itself  once  again  into  the  line  of  procession.  But 
he  was  shocked  and  grieved  to  find  what  a hideous  proportion  of  the 
element  of  the  mere  rough  had  got  mixed  up  with  all  this  part  of  the 
National  Demonstration.  His  efforts  at  order  were  sometimes  met 
with  curses  and  jeers.  One  of  the  foreign  democrats,  out  of  whose 
clutch  he  tried  to  drag  a revolver,  pointed  the  weapon  directly  at  his 
head.  He  heard  windows  crashing  in  as  he  turned  into  Whitehall, 
and  all  along  the  way  there  were  fierce  little  collisions  between  those 
who  belonged  to  the  procession  and  those  who  did  not  belong  to  it. 

Masterson  had  lost  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  march,  and  was  not 
able  to  regain  it.  When  he  got  at  last  in  front  of  the  gates  of  Palace 
Yard,  he  found  that  the  yard  was  already  nearly  filled  with  the  mere 
vanguard  of  the  procession,  and  that  the  police  were  trying  to  close 
the  gates  against  all  further  comers.  Exaggerated  rumours  of  the 
attack  on  Marlborough  House  had  already  spread  consternation.  A 
large  body  of  police  was  assembled  at  Westminster,  and  fierce  deter- 
mination not  to  yield  an  inch  to  the  miscreants  was  expressed  on  the 
face  of  every  man  of  it.  He  was  just  able  to  get  off  his  horse  and 
squeeze  his  way  in ; and  then  he  found  that  the  crowd  behind  him 
were  trying  to  force  their  way.  The  moment  he  got  inside  the  gates 
he  saw  that  all  was  practically  over,  so  far  as  any  chance  of  direct 
communication  with  any  members  of  the  Government  was  concerned. 
The  police  and  the  crowd  were  already  in  fierce  conflict.  He  saw  men 
brandishing  knives ; he  heard  the  patter  of  the  revolver,  the  police 


“THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  LIBERTY: 


259 


with  their  truncheons  were  battling  for  their  lives.  He  rushed  into 
the  heart  of  the  crowd  to  make  a last  effort  in  the  cause  of  liberty. 
******* 

It  was  Wednesday,  and  the  House  of  Commons,  according  to  its 
usage,  was  sitting  from  twelve  o’clock  until  six  in  the  evening.  Wed- 
nesday is  commonly  given  up  to  the  measures  of  private  members.  It 
is  a day  of  independent  statesmanship.  It  was  an  observation  of 
Edmund  Burke,  that  he  generally  found  independent  men  in  Parlia- 
ment to  be  men  on  whom  nobody  could  depend.  The  independent 
statesmanship  of  the  Wednesday  is  ralher  often  a statesmanship  on 
which  no  one  can  depend  for  any  definite  and  practical  results.  It  is 
the  day  of  the  parliamentary  Sisyphus,  who  rolls  his  measure  up  to  the 
top  of  the  hill  only  to  have  it  come  rolling  down  again  the  moment 
the  clock -fingers  point  to  a quarter  to  six.  For  then  the  Speaker, 
according  to  rule,  rises,  perhaps  in  the  very  middle  of  some  orator’s 
sentence,  calls  “ Order,  order!”  and  proclaims  the  debate  at  an  end,  the 
remaining  quarter  of  an  hour  being  devoted  to  the  formality  of  post- 
poning successively  all  the  other  measures  on  the  notice-paper. 

Morse  had  come  down  to  the  House  because  he  felt  a sort  of  interest 
in  some  Bill  that  was  to  be  brought  on.  He  had  not  thought  very 
much  about  the  monster  procession  and  its  petition.  He  had  received 
Masterson’s  letter  with  its  date  signalizing  the  birth  of  England’s 
liberty  ; but  he  had  put  it  half  sadly  away,  and  had  no  expectation  or 
fear  that  anything  in  particular  would  come  of  it.  He  had  been  read- 
ing in  the  library  in  a listless  sort  of  way.  He  had  a huge  volume  in 
his  hands,  and  every  one  who  passed  through  was  sure  he  was  study- 
ing some  important  political  subject.  The  truth  was  that  the  book  he 
had  taken  up  was  a French  translation  of  some  minute  Arabian  memo- 
rabilia concerning  the  life  and  sayings  of  Mahomet;  which  Morse  read 
with  but  a languid  interest.  After  a while  he  got  up  and  went  out  of 
the  library  and  on  to  the  terrace.  The  day  was  soft  and  bright  for  the 
lime  of  year  and  the  climate,  and  the  grey  and  dull-red  walls  of 
Lambeth  Palace  looked  venerable  and  picturesque  in  the  mild  sun- 
light. Morse  lit  a cigar,  and  paced  the  long  stretch  of  terrace  alone. 
Perhaps  there  came  into  his  mind  some  thought  of  the  evening  when 
Koorali  and  he  walked  on  that  terrace  together,  and  when  he  did  not 
yet  quite  suspect  that  he  felt  too  deep  an  interest  in  her.  Anyhow 
his  thoughts  took  a somewhat  melancholy  turn. 

Suddenly  he  began  to  hear  great  noises  somewhere  in  the  near 
distance.  There  was  a sound  as  of  commotion,  of  multitudes,  even  of 
struggle.  Then  he  remembered  all  at  once  Masterson’s  first  day  of 
liberty,  and  the  monster  procession,  and  the  petition  that  was  to  be 
presented ; and  he  began  to  be  afraid  some  disturbance  was  taking 
place.  Heavens  ! was  that  the  sound  of  fire-arms — quite  near  ? 

There  were  several  groups  of  members  on  the  terrace.  A great 
number  of  men  had  come  down  for  the  express  purpose  of  seeing  the 
procession  and  the  whole  business.  Some  had  been  posted  high  up  in 
the  Clock  Tower  to  have  the  better  view.  A sudden  piece  of  news# 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


260 

was  given  to  the  members  on  the  terrace  as  the  crack  of  the  revolvers 
sounded,  which  made  them  all  start  up  and  run  as  if  they  had  heard 
the  division  bell.  One  man  whom  Morse  knew  personally  ran  past 
him  and  just  stopped  to  cry  out,  “ Hallo,  Morse,  your  democrat  friends 
are  playing  the  very  devil  with  us!  Haven’t  you  heard?  They’ve 
been  breaking  windows  at  Marlborough  House!”  and  then  he  vanished. 

Morse  had  the  power  of  keeping  cool  in  an  emergency.  He  did  not 
believe  that  Masterson,  chivalrous  though  misguided  Masterson — not- 
withstanding his  vague  plot  to  overthrow  the  succession — would  sanc- 
tion any  vulgar  attempt  on  Marlborough  House.  But  he  did  fear  that 
Masterson’s  socialists  might  have  proved  too  many  for  him,  and  Morse 
instantly  reflected  that  if  any  disturbance  were  threatened,  he  himself 
might  be  of  some  service  as  a peacemaker.  So  he  strode  at  the  best 
of  his  speed  through  the  covered  passages  of  echoing  stone  and  the 
open  courtyards  which  lead  from  the  terrace  directly  into  Palace  Yard. 
When  he  got  within  sight  of  Palace  Yard  he  could  make  out  nothing 
at  first  but  a confused  sea  of  men’s  furious  and  maddened  faces;  he 
could  hear  nothing  but  a storm-wind  of  yells,  curses,  shouts,  and 
howls.  In  another  moment  he  could  see  plainly  enough  that  the 
police  were  striving  to  make  head  against  a mass  of  people  who  had 
got  possession  of  Palace  Yard. 

Morse  had  a quick  eye,  and  could  take  in  things  coolly  when  a 
critical  moment  came.  He  was  a little  thrown  off  his  balance  for  an 
instant  when  he  saw  what  we  may  call  the  first  blood  drawn.  It  is 
a sickening  sight  that  first  blood  one  sees  drawn  in  any  manner  of 
conflict,  whether  it  be  the  blood  of  one’s  comrade  on  a battle-field,  or 
it  spouts  from  a truncheoned  head  in  a street  riot,  or  reddens  the  black 
and  glossy  side  of  the  bull  in  the  arena  of  Madrid.  The  first  blood 
Morse  then  saw  drawn  was  from  the  face  of  a policeman  whom  he 
knew  personally,  a civil,  quiet,  obliging  creature,  who  was  struck  on 
the  cheek  by  a sharp  and  jagged  stone.  The  second  blood  drawn  was 
by  the  policeman’s  truncheon  from  the  skull  of  the  processionist  who 
happened  to  be  nearest  to  him.  Then  Morse  saw  in  a moment  what 
had  happened.  Part  of  the  procession  had  succeeded  in  getting  into 
Palace  Yard.  The  police  were  struggling  hard  to  get  the  great  gates 
closed  against  the  remainder  of  the  crowd,  and  the  still  excluded  mob 
was  fighting  fiercely  to  get  in.  Stones  were  flying  in  from  the  outside ; 
the  police  were  all  but  swallowed  up  by  the  crowd  inside.  At  last 
they  were  evidentty  compelled  to  fight  for  their  lives,  truncheon  in 
hand. 

An  inspector  of  police  whom  Morse  knew  very  well  by  sight  was 
striving  to  make  his  way  into  the  crowd.  He  saw  Morse  in  passing, 
and  appealed  to  him. 

“Speak  to  them,  Mr.  Morse,”  he  cried  out.  He  had  to  cry  out  in 
good  earnest  in  order  to  be  heard  above  the  din  of  the  struggle. 
“ They’ll  listen  to  you,  perhaps.” 

Morse  caught  at  the  idea.  He  was  standing  on  the  raised  pathway 
which  runs  along  the  side  of  Palace  Yard  in  front  of  the  cloister  out  of 


“THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  LIBERTY."  261 

which  the  courtyard  opens  where  the  Speaker  has  his  official  residence. 
He  was  lifted,  therefore,  a little  above  the  level  of  the  crowd.  It 
struck  him  even  in  that  moment  as  an  odd  and  whimsical  situation 
for  a public  man  who  was  supposed  to  be  a possible  Prime  Minister  to 
have  to  try  to  harangue  a furious  mob  within  the  very  precincts  of  the 
Imperial  Parliament. 

“Fellow-countrymen,  working-men,  friends  ! ” he  called  out,  and  his 
voice  rang  across  the  great  square,  and  wakened  echoes  which  gave 
back  his  words.  “ Hear  me,  I beseech  of  you — you  know  I am  your 
friend.  Desist  from  this  violence,  which  can  only  do  harm  to  you  and 
to  any  cause  you  have  at  heart.”  Then  he  stopped.  “ No  use,”  he 
said  to  the  police  officer;  “they  are  beyond  that.”  In  truth  his 
attempt  was  hopeless.  Only  the  echoes  appeared  to  pay  any  attention 
to  his  words,  and  the  echoes  made  mockery  of  them. 

Already  the  police  officer  was  lost  in  the  crowd.  He  had  recognized 
the  futility  of  eloquence  at  such  a moment. 

Morse  too  plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  crowd,  hoping  to  see  some 
faces  he  knew  and  men  to  whom  he  was  known ; hoping  to  prevail  on 
some  leaders  of  the  procession  to  work  for  the  restoration  of  discipline 
and  order.  He  could  see  the  sunlight  glittering  on  the  helmets  of 
a cluster  of  cavalry  drawn  up  on  the  far  side  of  Parliament  Square, 
and  evidently  kept  in  waiting  lest  worse  should  come  of  it ; and  even 
in  that  moment  of  confusion  he  could  not  help  admiring  the  discipline 
which  kept  them  there  unmoved  within  sight  of  the  struggle  between 
police  and  people,  only  to  intervene  when  the  civil  power  could  no 
longer  hold  head  against  disorder.  Then  in  an  instant  he  saw  Master- 
sou  a short  distance  from  him.  The  chief  of  the  socialists  was  striving 
with  all  his  might  and  main  to  keep  his  people  from  their  attack  on 
the  police.  He  was  wildly  gesticulating,  and  kept  pointing  to  the 
three-coloured  sash  he  wore,  as  to  some  emblem  of  order  and  brother- 
hood which  both  sides  were  bound  to  recognize.  He  had  lost  his  hat, 
and  there  was  a great  cut  on  his  temple  from  which  blood  was  flowing, 
but  of  which  he  did  not  appear  to  be  conscious.  Morse  saw  a police- 
man rush  at  him  with  uplifted  truncheon.  The  man  evidently  took 
Masterson  for  a wild  instigator  of  force.  Morse  made  a desperate  effort 
to  get  hold  of  the  policeman’s  arm  and  to  drag  him  back.  It  was  too 
late ; it  wras  hopeless.  He  distinctly  heard  two  dull  heavy  blows  fall 
on  the  bare  head  of  the  unfortunate  leader  of  the  social  democrats ; 
and  he  saw  poor  Masterson  turn  a ghastly  white  in  the  face,  and  then 
sink  in  the  midst  of  the  fighting  crowd.  Morse  forced  his  way  through 
the  crowd  by  sheer  strength,  caring  nothing  for  the  chance  of  random 
blows  from  either  side,  and  he  got  to  where  poor  Masterson  lay,  and 
tried  to  lift  his  head.  Even  in  all  the  fury  of  the  struggle  some 
those  near  recognized  Morse,  and  saw  that  he  was  striving  to  save 
somebody,  and  they  lent  him  a willing  hand. 

Morse  took  up  the  lean  body  of  Masterson  in  his  arms,  and  sternly 
ordered  those  around  him  to  make  way,  that  the  injured  man  might  bo 
carried  into  a place  of  safety.  Morse  was  careful  not  to  mention  Mas* 


262 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


terson’s  name,  or  to  allow  the  face  of  the  man  he  bore  in  his  arms  to 
be  seen  by  the  crowd  around.  He  felt  that  if  it  were  known  that  the 
leader  of  the  movement  had  been  already  stricken  down,  the  passion 
for  vengeance  would  render  the  socialist  mass  more  desperate  than 
before.  Some  of  the  policemen  who  were  stationed  at  the  door  of  the 
members’  entrance  to  protect  it,  and  whose  duty  did  not  as  yet  bring 
them  into  any  collision  with  the  crowd,  saw  that  Morse  was  trying  to 
rescue  some  one,  and  made  way  for  him,  and  would  have  helped  him 
to  carry  in  his  burden.  Morse,  however,  refused  to  allow  any  one  to 
bear  his  poor  old  friend  but  himself.  His  heart  was  bursting  as  he 
here  the  now  almost  senseless  body.  The  long  grey  floating  hair  was 
clotted  here  and  there  in  thickening  blood;  the  white  face  looked 
waxy  and  almost  transparent;  death  might  have  already  come,  so 
corpse-like  was  the  load  that  Morse  was  bearing.  The  contrast  was 
striking;  would  have  been  most  striking,  indeed,  to  any  one  who 
knew  that  Morse  and  Masterson  were  about  the  same  age — Morse 
straight,  strong,  elastic  of  tread,  with  the  free  vigorous  movements  of 
manhood’s  best  years ; and  the  thin,  wasted,  grey,  and  shrunken  old 
man  whom  he  was  carrying  so  easily  in  his  arms. 

Morse  strode  through  the  members’  entrance,  and  into  the  cloak- 
room ; a long  narrow  room  on  the  right,  looking  rather  like  a prison 
corridor,  except  for  the  cloaks  and  coats  and  umbrellas  of  members 
that  hung  in  the  alphabetical  order  of  their  owners’  names  on  pegs, 
surmounted  by  cards  bearing  each  name  in  big- written  round-hand 
characters. 

“ Pile  some  coats  there,”  Morse  said  to  one  of  the  attendants ; “ in 
front  of  that  fire.”  One  or  two  huge  fires  were  burning  cheerily. 
“Not  too  near;  take  any  coats — there’s  mine,  just  there;  lay  them 
down  nicely.  Yes,  that  will  do.  Now  help  me  to  stretch  him  softly 
there  ; he  is  wounded.” 

“ My  God ! his  skull’s  regular  stove  in,”  the  attendant  said,  with  a 
shudder.  “ What  was  he  a-doing  of,  Mr.  Morse?  ” 

“ Trying  to  preserve  order  and  save  human  life — that  was  all,” 
Morse  answered  grimly. 

They  laid  him  gently  on  the  heap  of  coats.  By  this  time  two  or 
three  members  came  in  who  had  seen  Morse  with  his  burden;  one 
among  them  was  Mr.  Caleb,  a skilful  little  surgeon  who  had  lately 
been  taken  with  the  ambition  of  a parliamentary  career.  He  had  run 
to  the  spot  to  offer  his  services.  He  looked  at  the  wounds  in  Master- 
son’s  head ; felt  his  pulse  ; partly  opened  his  eyelids. 

“ Bad  business,”  he  said  decisively.  “ Nothing  to  be  done,  I am 
afraid,  Mr.  Morse.  Do  you  know  the  man?” 

“ Yes  ; a dear  old  friend  of  mine.” 

“ How  on  earth  did  he  get  into  the  row  ? ” 

“ As  he  got  into  every  misfortune  that  has  come  on  him,”  Morse 
said  quietly;  “ in  the  general  honest  thought  and  common  good  to  all. 
It’s  Masterson  himself.” 

They  stood  beside  him  silently.  Mr.  Caleb  looked  closely  into  his 


“ONE  WHO  CAN  PROVE: 


263 

face,  and  was  filled  with  a new  and  keener  interest.  The  little  group 
was  now  almost  alone ; Morse,  Mr.  Caleb,  and  the  dying  man.  The 
increasing  noise  of  the  riot  had  drawn  all  others  away  to  the  more 
exciting  scene  outside.  Masterson  was  breathing  in  a heavy  stertorous 
way.  He  opened  his  eyes  once  or  twice,  and  looked  vaguely  up ; not 
seeing  anything,  not  hearing  anything.  Morse  knelt  beside  him. 

“Do  you  know  me?”  he  said,  in  tones  that  had  unspeakable 
tenderness  in  them.  “ Masterson,  my  dear  old  friend  ! ” 

The  voice  did  not  recall  the  dying  man  to  consciousness,  but  it 
apparently  brought  with  it  some  memories  of  the  world  and  the  pur- 
poses which  he  was  leaving  behind.  A sort  of  light  came  over  the 
pale  grey  face,  and  the  lips  were  seen  to  move,  and  were  evidently 
striving  to  give  utterance  to  words.  Morse  bent  down  his  ear  to  catch 
the  sound.  In  a faltering  tone,  that  sounded  hollow  and  far  away, 
Masterson  spoke  at  last.  The  only  words  that  Morse  could  make  out 
were  these  words — 

“ The  first  day  of  liberty ! ” 

Then  the  mouth  and  the  eyes  closed  again,  and  a shudder  went 
chrough  the  prostrate  body  ; in  another  moment  all  was  over. 

“ The  first  day  of  liberty ! ” said  Morse,  as  he  rose  from  his  knees. 
“ Yes  ; the  first  day  of  liberty  has  set  him  free.” 

Mr.  Caleb  looked  up  suddenly  at  Morse,  and  then  looked  away. 
He  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  Morse’s  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

“one  who  can  prove.” 

West-End  London,  when  it  woke  up  next  morning  and  had  time  to 
get  hold  of  its  newspapers  and  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  the  columns 
of  news  under  big  startling  lines  of  heading,  became  stupefied  by -the 
reality  of  the  events  now  brought  clearly  and  fully  to  its  knowledge. 
It  was  something  bewildering  to  a quiet  man  who  had  lived  in  London 
all  his  life  and  never  known  of  anything  happening  there  more  start- 
ling than  a murder  at  the  East-End,  or  a fog,  or  a great  unexpected 
snowstorm,  to  find  St.  James’s  Street  a scene  of  desolation,  and  to 
learn  that  there  had  been  a terrible  riot  of  something  like  a revolu- 
tionary character  in  the  very  precincts  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament ; 
that  Palace  Yard  had  been  stormed  by  an  armed  mob ; that  the  police 
had  to  fight  for  their  very  lives  ; that  the  troops  had  been  called  out; 
that  blood  had  been  shed  lavishly;  that  many-  of  the  rioters  had  been 
killed  or  wounded,  and  that  their  leader,  a well-known  popular  dema- 
gogue, lay  dead.  These  things  one  read  of  in  histories  of  the  time  of 
the  Georges.  One  had  read  of  Porteous  riots  in  Edinburgh,  and  one 
took  it  for  granted  that  there  should  be  revolutionary  commotion  in 
all  manner  of  continental  cities  and  frequent  disturbances  in  the  rowdy 
quarters  of  New  York.  But  who  expected  a real  riot  and  shedding  ol 


264 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


blood  in  London  ? The  Hyde  Park  riots  of  1866  amounted,  of  course, 
to  nothing  more  than  a rough  piece  of  pleasantry  and  horse-play  on 
the  part  of  a comparatively  harmless  mob.  But  the  morning  papers 
now,  with  their  headings  in  huge  capitals,  “ Fearful  riots.  Clubs 
and  shops  stoned  and  wrecked.  Marlborough  House  attacked.  The 
troops  called  out.  Many  lives  lost.  Mr.  Masterson  killed ! ” and 
other  such  attractive  and  horrifying  announcements  brought  home  to 
the  peaceful  Londoner’s  mind  the  fact  that  the  wiid-beast  temper  in 
man  is  not  to  be  softened  and  smoothed  out  of  him  by  any  manner 
of  civilization. 

Every  policeman  who  kept  his  wits  about  him  testified  to  the  same 
effect  as  to  the  beginning  of  the  riot.  A large  part  of  the  procession 
had  been  allowed  to  enter  Palace  Yard.  Then,  as  the  crowd  seemed 
likely  to  fill  the  whole  place,  the  order  was  given  to  close  the  gates. 
Thereupon  the  police  declared  that  certain  ringleaders,  foreigners  in 
appearance,  had  cried  out  that  the  way  must  be  forced  and  the  build- 
ing captured,  and  that  tYsse  men  had  pulled  out  revolvers  and  daggers, 
and  exhorted  their  followers  to  do  the  like.  Some  of  them  did  succeed 
in  forcing  their  way  in  before  the  gates  could  be  closed  against  them  ; 
and  stones  were  thrown  in  showers  and  revolvers  were  discharged. 
Then  the  police,  believing  very  naturally  that  the  whole  movement 
was  an  organized  attack  upon  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  felt  bound  to 
fight  it  out  in  the  best  way  they  could.  The  first  result  was  that  the 
pocr  “apostle  of  affliction,”  the  sworn  friend  of  the  working-man  and 
the  proletaire , the  sworn  enemy  of  the  aristocrat  and  the  capitalist, 
the  sincerest  of  dreamers,  the  purest  of  fanatics,  was  lying  dead  in  the 
cloak-room  of  the  House  of  Commons,  all  his  dreams  knocked  out  of 
him  by  a mistaken  blow  from  a policeman’s  baton. 

So  much  for  the  past ; but  what  about  the  future  ? This  was  the 
question  which  London  society,  and  all  the  propertied,  trading,  and 
shopkeeping  classes  of  London  kept  asking  for  anxious  hours.  Is  it 
all  over ; or  was  yesterday’s  riot  but  an  affair  of  pickets  and  out- 
posts, preliminary  to  a great  revolutionary  and  anarchic  movement — 
a nihilism  of  the  London  garrets  and  slums?  There  was  deep  and 
widespread  anxiety  throughout  the  day.  Seldom,  indeed,  does  any 
public  event  stamp  itself  for  many  hours  on  the  outer  aspect  of  London 
life.  This  time  the  faces  of  men  in  the  streets  bore  visible  impress  of 
the  calamity  which  had  happened,  and  terrible  expectation  of  other 
I calamities  yet  to  come.  The  streets  were  patrolled  by  troops.  The 
police  were  vindictive.  Prisoners  were  being  brought  up  at  the  police 
courts  hourly,  and  committed  for  trial.  Inquests  were  taking  place  at 
various  hospitals. 

Happily  it  soon  became  evident  that  there  was  no  further  cause  for 
alarm.  There  was  no  common  desire  amongst  any  considerable  part 
of  the  population  to  create  fresh  disturbances.  There  was  no  really 
revolutionary  organization  having  for  its  object  the  overthrow  of  any 
settled  institutions.  There  was  no  watchword  of  social  revolution. 
Cool-headed  magistrates,  police  officials,  8tnd  others,  found  that  the 


“ONE  WHO  CAN  PROVE J 


265 

more  they  looked  into  the  actual  facts,  the  less  and  less  evidence  could 
they  discover  of  anything  like  a widespread  conspiracy  or  arrangement 
of  any  sort  to  bring  about  yesterday’s  catastrophe.  What  they  did 
find,  and  became  more  and  more  convinced  of  every  hour,  was  that 
the  occasion  had  been  deliberately  turned  to  account  by  a small  band 
of  hired  agents  for  the  purpose  of  getting  up  a formidable  disturbance, 

Long  before  the  evening  had  fallen  in  a clue  had  been  found  to  an 
undoubted  conspiracy  of  this  kind;  and  the  impression  on  the  mind* 
of  those  who  knew  all  that  was  to  be  known,  became  stronger  anti 
stronger  that  foreign  money  and  foreign  agency  had  been  largely  em- 
ployed to  hire  professional  miscreants,  and  to  force  on  a serious  conflict 
between  the  populace  and  the  authorities.  Such  a disturbance  hap- 
pening on  the  very  verge  of  a threatened  war  could  not  but  discredit 
and  damage  the  English  Government  and  England  herself  in  the 
eyes  of  all  foreign  States,  and  that  undoubtedly  was  the  effect  which 
the  disturbance  was  intended  to  have.  The  conclusion  was  easily 
arrived  at.  The  foreign  money  employed  was  the  money  of  the  State 
with  which  England  was  about  to  go  to  war.  The  money  was  spent 
that  England  might  be  stabbed  in  the  back  at  a moment  of  peculiar 
gravity  and  danger. 

While  London  was  in  this  state  of  anxiety,  commotion,  and  trepida- 
tion, a fresh  surprise  and  shock  was  produced  by  a letter  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Piccadilly  Gazette . The  letter  was  printed  in  large 
type,  and  was  signed,  “ One  who  can  Prove.”  This  was  what  the 
“ one  ” undertook  to  prove : “ I tell  the  English  Government  and  the 
English  people  that  yesterday’s  riot  was  got  up  in  the  interest  of  a 
foreign  State  by  persons  who  spent  foreign  money  to  promote  it.  I 
further  tell  the  English  Government  and  the  English  people  that  the 
real  head  of  the  conspiracy,  through  which  the  foreign  money  was 
spent  in  order  that  English  blood  might  be  spilt  and  England  herself 
•weakened  at  a terrible  crisis,  is  the  leader  of  the  Eadical  and  the 
peace  party,  the  Eight  Honourable  Sandhnm  Morse,  M.P.,  whom 
Eadicals  and  lovers  of  peace  have  long  been  designating  as  the  coming 
Prime  Minister  of  England.” 

London  was  much  startled  by  this  letter ; did  not  indeed  quite 
believe  it ; but  was  too  much  shaken  in  all  its  established  ideas  to  dis- 
believe anything  very  strongly.  In  the  clubs,  men  said,  “ It  can’t  be 
true  ; of  course  Morse  will  contradict  it.”  But  the  papers  came  out 
next  day,  and  there  was  no  contradiction  from  Morse.  The  “ One 
who  can  Prove  ” returned  to  the  charge.  He  repeated  in  the  Picca- 
dilly Gazette  the  precise  accusation  he  had  made,  and  he  challenged 
contradiction.  He  added  a fresh  assertion.  He  insisted  that  there 
was,  or  had  been,  an  organization  under  Masterson  to  set  aside  the 
succession  on  the  death  of  the  reigning  sovereign,  and  to  establish  a 
republic  in  England,  and  that  this  organization  was  patronized  and 
supported  by  the  Eight  Honourable  Sandham  Morse.  “ Let  him  deny 
it,”  the  letter  concluded,  “ if  he  can ; if  he  dare ! ” 

Still  there  came  no  contradiction  from  Morse,  and  at  last  there 
18 


266 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


appeared  in  all  the  morning  papers  a communicated  piece  of  informa- 
tion, to  the  effect  that  Sir  Eoderick  Fathom,  M.P.,  intended  that 
evening  to  move  the  adjournment  of  the  House  of  Commons  after 
question-time  in  order  to  call  attention  to  certain  statements  made  in 
the  Piccadilly  Gazette , and  to  ask  whether  the  Government  had  any 
information  to  give  to  the  House  on  the  subject.  The  paragraph 
significantly  added  : “ It  is  expected  that  Mr.  Morse,  M.P.,  will  be  in 
his  place,  and  will  offer  some  explanation  to  the  House.” 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

“ A SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE.” 

The  House  of  Commons  was  crowded  in  every  part.  The  chamber 
proper  did  not  give  its  legitimate  occupants  seats  enough  or  nearly 
enough,  and  members,  therefore,  swarmed  into  their  galleries  at  either 
side.  The  places  assigned  to  peers,  to  foreign  diplomatists,  and  to 
distinguished  strangers  were  every  one  occupied.  Princes  looked 
serenely  down  from  “ over  the  clock  ; ” one  or  two  great  authors  were 
happy  in  having  seats  secured  for  them  “ under  the  gallery ; ” the 
crypt  in  which  ladies  are  stowed  away  glistened  with  silks  and  velvets, 
jewellery  and  flashing  eyes. 

There  were  two  women  in  that  gallery,  far  apart  from  each  other, 
neither  aware  of  the  other’s  presence,  to  each  of  whom  the  rumours  of 
the  expected  scene  were  as  rumours  touching  the  life  or  death — nay, 
more — the  honour  of  her  nearest  and  dearest.  Lady  Betty,  at  once 
timid  and  desperately  courageous,  had  come  to  the  House  with  her 
father  to  hear  and  know  the  worst.  She  had  heard  on  that  day  only 
of  the  extraordinary  charges  in  the  Piccadilly  Gazette . Her  husband 
she  had  not  seen  since  the  riots.  Even  had  they  been  together  she 
would  have  shrunk  from  questioning  him,  as  she  might  have  shrunk 
from  probing  a gaping  wound.  But  to  sit  still  and  wait  the  course  of 
events  was  an  impossibility.  She  was  too  keenly  strung  to  be  inactive 
in  a crisis.  And  so  she  had  come  in  a strange  tumult  of  feeling,  half 
determined  to  brave  it  all  out,  half  hoping  that  her  presence  side  by 
side  with  a great  Tory  peeress — a connection  of  her  own  who  had  an 
appointment  at  Court,  and  under  whose  immediate  protection  Lord 
Germilion  had  placed  her — would  shield  her  from  identification  wdth 
her  husband’s  revolutionary  schemes,  whatever  they  might  be. 

Koorali  was  in  the  gallery  too,  but  she  was  in  a very  different  mood 
from  Lady  Betty.  Scorn  of  the  accusations  against  Morse,  unswerving 
faith  in  him,  the  desperate  longing  of  a loving  woman  to  be  near  him, 
to  see  how  he  would  comport  himself  in  the  face  of  his  enemies, 
perhaps  a faint  subtle  hope  that  he  might  know  she  was  there,  that 
her  sympathy  might  somehow  reach  him — all  worked  within  her. 
She  was  cold  with  nervous  excitement.  As  she  sat  in  her  place,  very 


“A  SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE?  267 

still,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together,  her  eyes  bent  downwards,  she 
could  hear  her  own  heart  beating. 

Lord  Germilion,  a small,  white-haired  old  man,  with  a very  erect 
carriage  and  his  daughter’s  bright  dark  eyes,  had  got  a seat  among  his 
peers.  Lord  Forrest,  who  had  hardly  ever  seen  the  House  of  Commons 
before,  came  down  that  evening,  and  was  shown  by  his  son  where  and 
how  to  tind  a place.  Mr.  Paulton,  the  American  Minister,  was  in  the 
Ambassadors’  Gallery,  side  by  side  with  the  young  Envoy  from  the 
great  foreign  State  presumed  to  be  England’s  enemy,  the  young 
Envoy  whom  Crichton  Kenway  saw  in  deep  conversation  with  Morse 
at  Lady  Betty’s  party.  In  the  mysterious  caves  of  iEolus,  beneath 
the  flooring,  where  the  process  of  ventilation  is  carried  on,  many  stow- 
aways, if  one  might  thus  describe  various  influential  and  privileged 
persons,  were  sheltered,  and  found  that  they  could  hear,  with  quite 
surprising  clearness,  what  was  going  on  over  their  heads. 

Morse  took  his  seat  on  the  Opposition  side,  below  the  gangway.  A 
low  murmur  went  round  the  House  as  he  entered.  There  was  no 
“ demonstration ; ” his  own  side  of  the  House  received  him  in  absolute 
silence.  One  or  two  men  leaned  out  of  their  places  and  shook  hands 
with  him.  He  was  evidently  very  unpopular  with  the  Liberal  party 
generally,  and  the  Tories  were  furious  against  him.  The  House  was 
going  through  its  list  of  questions  when  Morse  came  in.  How  slow 
and  stupid  all  the  questions  and  answers  seemed  to  the  listeners  gene- 
rally, to  the  ladies  in  the  gallery  for  instance  ! How  tantalizing  the 
manner  in  which  every  questioning  member  refused  to  be  content 
with  one  answer,  and  persisted  in  putting  further  question  upon 
question!  How  can  any  one  have  the  face  or  the  heart  to  interpose 
with  such  trumpery  matter  at  such  a time  ? See,  there  is  Mr.  Morse 
getting  up  and  walking  deliberately  out  of  the  House ! Is  he  really 
going  away  for  the  evening?  Will  he  not  return?  Are  we  not  to 
have  our  scene  after  all  ? The  thought  was  positively  maddening. 
It  disturbed  more  than  the  occupants  of  the  Ladies’  Gallery.  Through 
all  the  galleries  and  through  the  House  itself  ran  the  wildfire  alarm  ot 
anticipated  disappointmer  t ; the  dread  that  the  anxious  subject  was 
for  some  reason  or  other  not  to  be  raised,  and  that  the  House  would  in 
due  course  proceed,  uninterrupted,  with  its  ordinary  business. 

Then  a sudden  and  a curious  change  came  over  the  minds  of  the 
spectators.  A few  moments  ago  every  one  was  longing  to  have  the 
questious  cut  short.  Now,  every  one  wanted  to  have  that  expanded, 
iterated,  multiplied.  If  the  questions  were  suddenly  to  collapse,  the 
House  might  at  any  moment  find  itself  plunged  into  its  regular  routine 
of  business,  and  once  in  it  could  not  get  out  again,  and  the  anticipated 
“Morse  incident”  could  not  happen  that  evening,  and  the  scene  not 
taking  place  that  evening  would  probably  not  take  place  at  all. 
Besides,  how  could  one  count  on  getting  a seat  anywhere  to-morrow 
evening  ? In  many  a breast,  beneath  frock  coat  and  bodice  alike,  the 
anxiety  began  to  swell  to  something  not  far  from  agony. 

A deep  sense  of  relief  suddenly  passed  through  the  House.  Morse 


268 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE. 


had  returned  to  his  place.  The  expected  scene,  therefore,  was  not 
doomed  to  go  by  default.  If  the  Ministerialist  who  was  understood  to 
have  taken  the  matter  in  hand  should  persevere  in  his  purpose,  there 
was  no  reason  why  the  House  should  be  disappointed.  Is  the 
Ministerialist  in  his  place  ? Yes ; there  he  is,  Sir  Roderick  Fathom,  a 
tall,  spare,  white-whiskered,  country  gentleman  of  the  highest  respec- 
tability in  his  county  and  in  the  House,  who  had  hitherto  distinguished 
himself  by  his  unbending  Toryism  and  his  unceasing  interest  in  the 
question  of  the  malt  duties  and  of  local  taxation. 

At  length  the  list  of  printed  questions  is  exhausted.  About  a 
thousand  pairs  of  eyes,  many  beaming  through  spectacles,  are  turned 
to  Sir  Roderick  Fathom.  But,  lo!  instead  of  his  rising,  a leading 
member  of  the  Opposition  on  the  front  bench  got  up  and  blandly 
begged  leave  to  ask  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  whether  it  was 
the  intention  of  the  Government  this  session  to  bring  in  any  bill  to 
deal  with  the  question  of  the  duties  on  foreign  leather.  The  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  made  answer  that  the  Government  were  giving  the 
subject  their  best  consideration,  and  would  be  in  a position  to  inform 
the  House  at  a later  period.  It  was  yet  very  early  in  the  session,  etc., 
etc.  Questions  with  which  a Government  does  not  particularly  care  to 
deal  are  always  in  one  of  two  stages.  It  is  too  early  in  the  session  to 
do  anything  with  them  or  it  is  too  late.  Anyhow,  that  is  done  with  ; 
and  now  for  the  scene.  No ; an  independent  member  of  the  Opposition 
sitting  below  the  gangway  gets  up  and  puts  a question  about  foreign 
policy  and  the  recent  news  from  the  East.  This,  too,  had  to  be  politely 
evaded.  Now,  surely,  Fathom  is  going  to  get  up  ? Not  he  ; a man 
sitting  next  to  him  rises  with  some  other  extemporized  question ; and 
when  he  sits  down,  and  the  Speaker,  previously  made  aware  of  what 
is  to  come,  positively  looks  towards  Sir  Roderick  Fathom,  that  gentle- 
man is  so  closely  engaged  in  conversation  with  one  of  the  Government 
whips  who  has  come  up  behind  him,  that  he  almost  loses  the  oppor- 
tunity at  length  placed  within  his  reach.  But  he  does  spring  to  his 
feet  before  the  time  has  quite  gone,  and  the  Speaker,  pointing  to  him, 
calls  out,  “ Sir  Roderick  Fathom,”  and  every  one,  relieved  and  contented, 
settles  down  to  listen. 

To  the  ladies  in  the  gallery,  or  most  of  them,  and  to  uninitiated 
male  strangers,  Sir  Roderick’s  is  a queer  and  a meaningless  performance 
when  he  does  get  up.  He  is  heard  to  mumble  something  about 
“ urgent  public  importance,”  and  then  he  goes  up  to  the  table  just  in 
front  of  the  Speaker’s  chair  and  he  deposits  a scrap  of  paper  there,  and 
he  hurries,  or  indeed  scuttles,  back  to  his  place.  What  he  has  done  is 
this : he  has  asked  for  leave  to  move  that  the  House  do  now  adjourn 
in  order  that  he  may  obtain  an  opportunity  of  discussing  “ a definite 
matter  of  urgent  public  importance.”  It  is  one  of  the  pleasant  and 
practical  ways  of  the  House  of  Commons  not  to  do  anything  directly,  or 
after  the  fashion  which  any  sane  man  would  adopt  of  his  own  accord. 
Under  the  new  rules  of  the  House,  if  a man  wishes  to  call  attention  to 
some  urgent  public  matter  which  has  suddenly  come  up  and  is  not  set 


"A  SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE: 


269 

down  for  discussion  on  that  particular  day,  he  is  not  allowed  to  say  out 
like  a rational  creature  that  he  wishes  to  discuss  this  question,  and  ask 
the  permission  of  the  House  to  discuss  it.  He  has  to  profess  a desire 
for  the  instant  adjournment  of  the  House,  which  he  does  not  want ; 
which  nobody  wants  or  thinks  of  granting ; which  he  wants  least  of 
all,  because  if  he  is  anxious  to  have  a certain  subject  debated  at  once, 
it  is  evident  that  it  cannot  be  debated  if  the  House  incontinently 
breaks  up.  But  if  he  is  allowed  to  move  the  adjournment  he  can, 
by  virtue  and  favour  of  that  technical  motion,  bring  up  the  question  he 
wishes  to  have  discussed,  and  when  all  has  been  said  that  he  wants 
to  say  or  to  hear,  he  can  withdraw  his  motfbn  for  the  adjournment  of 
the  House,  and  there  is  an  end  of  the  matter.  If  there  be  any  one  of 
the  unsatisfied  who  does  not  admire  the  practical  wisdom  embodied  in 
this  form  of  proceeding,  and  who  does  not  see  how  absolutely  necessary 
it  is  that  a man  should  pretend  to  want  something  he  does  not  want 
in  order  to  obtain  permission  to  ask  for  something  he  does  want,  then 
that  sceptical  creature  would  in  a past  age  have  failed  to  see  the  wisdom 
which  inspired  the  law  courts  with  the  invention  of  John  Doe  and 
Richard  Roe. 

However,  in  order  to  get  permission  to  move  the  adjournment,  Sir 
Roderick  has  under  the  rules  to  obtain  the  support  of  not  less  than 
forty  members.  “Not  less  than  forty  members,”  so  declares  the  rule, 
“ shall  thereupon  rise  in  their  places  to  support  the  motion.”  The 
Speaker  invites  the  House  to  subject  Sir  Roderick  and  his  motion  to 
this  test;  and  the  wondering  strangers  see  nearly  all  the  members 
suddenly  jump  to  their  feet  and  stand  up,  and  after  a second  or  so 
plump  down  again.  The  whole  House,  or  nearly  so,  wanted  the  scene 
and  the  personal  explanation,  and  therefore  it  rose  pretty  much  as  one 
man,  and  then  as  one  man  sat  down  again.  Morse  himself  was  one  of 
the  first  to  rise.  The  Speaker  pointed  to  Sir  Roderick  Fathom.  That 
suddenly  conspicuous  personage  got  up  for  the  third  time.  And  now 
for  the  scene  at  last. 

Sir  Roderick  began  by  asking  whether  Her  Majesty’s  Government 
had  any  information  to  offer  with  regard  to  a subject  which  had  excited 
the  profoundest  public  interest.  He  alluded  to  certain  statements 
made  by  a well-known  evening  journal,  containing  the  gravest  and 
most  important  charges  against  a very  distinguished  member  of  that 
honourable  House — one  who  had  held  a high  position  in  the  late 
Administration ; he  referred  to  the  right  honourable  gentleman  the 
member  for  Whittlestown,  whom  he  saw  now  in  his  place ; whether 
the  Government  could  say  if  the  allegations  were  true,  and  whether, 
if  so,  they  had  any  communication  to  make  to  the  House  as  to  any 
steps  they  intended  to  take.  Then  Sir  Roderick  sat  down,  glad  that 
his  task  was  over,  but  flushed  with  the  conviction  that  the  eyes  of 
Europe  were  on  him. 

Before  any  one  else  could  move,  Lord  Arden  leaped  to  his  feet,  and 
begged  to  ask,  in  the  first  instance,  whether  the  honourable  baronet 
who  had  just  sat  down  had,  in  accordance  with  the  rules  of  courtesy 


270 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


usually  adopted  in  that  House,  given  notice  to  “ my  right  honourable 
friend,  the  member  for  Whittlestown,”  of  his  intention  to  put  such  a 
question.  Lord  Arden  emphasized  the  words  “ my  right  honourable 
friend.”  Koorali  remarked  this.  Her  heart  leaped  to  Lord  Arden  as 
he  stood  up,  bis  slight  figure  looking  so  manly  and  dignified,  his  qujet 
manner  contrasting  so  effectively  with  the  bright  flash  in  his  eyes. 
Lady  Betty,  too,  felt  a thrill  of  pleasure  and  relief.  Since  one  of  her 
own  people  stood  by  Morse  surely  there  could  not  be  anything  really 
wrong.  And  he  would  deny  the  charge  in  a moment.  She  knew  he 
would  deny  it.  She  could  imagine  the  glow  of  indignation  which 
would  transfigure  his  impassive  face.  She  might  feel  proud  of  her 
husband  once  more. 

Lord  Arden’s  phrase  was  noticed  by  others,  too,  who  knew  that 
Arden  had  never  professed  any  particular  liking  for  Morse.  Sir 
Koderick,  half  rising,  said  that  he  had  given  the  usual  notice,  and 
Morse  assented  by  saying  “ Hear,  hear ! ” 

Now  then,  who  is  to  get  up  next ? Morse?  Koorali  fully  expected 
to  see  him  spring  to  his  feet.  He  did  not  move.  The  leader  of  the 
Government  looked  across  to  him,  as  if  to  ask  him  whether  he  was  not 
about  to  rise ; and,  seeing  him  motionless,  got  up  himself  and,  amid  a 
breathless  silence,  began  to  speak.  Ivoorali’s  heart  beat ; she  felt  as  if 
all  her  nerves  were  strained  out  of  their  places.  She  sat  motionless — 
waiting.  The  leader  of  the  Government  had  not  much  to  say.  He 
had  not  risen  at  once,  he  said,  because  he  thought  the  right  honour- 
able gentleman,  the  member  for  Whiitlestown,  might  desire  to  seize 
the  first  opportunity  of  offering  some  explanation  to  the  House.  As  he 
had  not  yet  done  so,  he,  the  leader  of  the  Government,  could  only  say 
that  Her  Majesty’s  Ministers  had  really  no  information  on  the  subject 
beyond  that  which  was  within  the  reach  of  every  member  of  the  House. 
They  had  seen — of  course  with  amazement  and  with  incredulity — he 
was  bound  to  say  with  incredulity — the  assertions  made  and  repeated 
so  positively  in  a certain  evening  newspaper,  but  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  matter,  and  doubtless  the  right  honourable  gentleman  opposite 
would  be  prepared  to  make  a satisfactory  statement  to  the  House. 
For  the  present  the  Government  had  nothing  more  to  say.  So  he  sat 
down,  having  blandly  made  the  matter  as  disagreeable  for  Morse  as  he 
well  could  do. 

A moment’s  pause,  and  then  Mr.  Fontaine  rose,  having  first  glanced 
at  Morse,  apparently  to  see  whether  he  was  about  to  get  up.  Mr. 
Fontaine  was  perhaps  the  only  man  in  the  House  whom  members, 
impatient  for  Morse’s  explanation,  would  just  then  have  consented  to 
hear.  The  House  would  always  listen  to  Mr.  Fontaine,  in  the  convic- 
tion that  whenever  he  spoke,  something  odd,  original,  and  amusing 
was  sure  to  be  uttered.  Mr.  Fontaine  was  a man  of  good  family,  of 
Huguenot  ancestry,  and  of  large  private  fortune.  He  might  have  had 
a great  political  career  if  he  were  not  too  indolent  for  work  and  too 
careless  of  fame.  He  loved  to  be  amused,  and  was  pleased  with  any 
manner  of  excitement  and  novelty.  He  went  in  for  Stock  Exchange 


A SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE: 


271 


speculations  now  and  then,  for  tlie  sake  of  the  amusement  it  gave 
him;  to  win  was  interesting,  to  lose  was  even  more  interesting  still. 
He  was  a man  of  deep  convictions,  but  he  delighted  in  puzzling  dul- 
lards, and  making  serious  folk  believe  that  he  was  only  a cynic  and  a 
trifler.  He  had  a weakness  for  every  weak  cause ; and  just  now  he 
thought  Morse  in  a very  dangerous  position,  and  he  resolved  to  come 
to  the  rescue.  It  seemed  to  him  likely  enough  that  Morse  might  have 
dabbled  a little  in  democratic  conspiracy.  Why  not  ? A man  of 
sense  and  spirit  wants  to  get  all  he  can  out  of  life,  and  Morse  might 
naturally  enough  like  to  experience  the  sensation  of  being  a nineteenth- 
century  conspirator.  Mr.  Fontaine  thought  neither  more  nor  less  of 
him  on  that  account. 

Fontaine  began  his  speech  in  a slow,  measured,  drawling  tone,  for  a 
while  keeping  down  almost  to  a whisper  his  strong  and  somewhat  harsh 
voice.  He  protested,  he  said,  against  the  public  time  being  taken  up 
with  inquiries  into  what  this,  that,  and  the  other  public  man  had  been 
doing  while  he  was  out  of  office.  He  did  not  know  whether  the  right 
honourable  gentleman,  the  member  for  Whittlestown,  had  dallied  with 
socialistic  conspiracy  or  not,  and  he  really  did  not  care.  If  he  had 
done  so  he  had  only  done  just  what  any  other  man  would  have  done 
in  his  place,  if  he  thought  he  had  anything  to  gain  by  it.  Did  Her 
Majesty’s  present  advisers  pretend  to  say  that  they  had  not  coquetted 
with  conspiracy  when  they  were  out  of  office  and  wanted  to  get  in? 
Was  there  a really  dangerous  conspirator  in  Europe  with  whom  they 
had  not  packed  cards?  There  were  loud  cries  of  “Oh,  oh!”  and 
“ Order ’’  from  the  Ministerial  benches,  especially  at  this  last  expression. 
“ Honourable  members  seem  to  be  much  offended  at  my  words.  I wish 
they  would  read  their  Shakespeare  a little — those  of  the  Conservative 
party  who  can  read.  (“  Oh,  oh ! ”)  Well,  I suppose  some  of  them  can 
read.  ‘ The  phrase  is  Shakespeare’s,  and  not  ill-applied.’  I am  quoting 
again,  Mr.  Speaker ; quoting  from  Byron  this  time.  Yes,  I say  they 
packed  cards  again  and  again  with  the  vilest  conspirators  in  Europe ! ” 
Shouts  of  anger  and  surprise  now  came  from  the  Conservative  benches 
— sincere  surprise,  for  it  was  well  known  that  the  present  Administra- 
tion was  composed  of  men  who  detested  all  popular  movements  at 
home  and  abroad.  “Yes;  the  vilest  conspirators  in  Europe!  There 
are  conspirators  with  crowns,  as  well  as  conspirators  without  half  a 
crown ; there  are  conspirators  against  liberty,  as  well  as  conspirators 
against  despotism ; and  the  conspirators  against  liberty  are  the  worst 
enemies  of  the  human  race.  There  is  not  a crowned  conspirator  on 
the  continent  of  Europe  with  whom  Her  Majesty’s  present  advisers 
have  not  packed  cards;  and  all  the  clamour  we  hear  about  war  is 
simply  got  up  because  one  of  their  confederates  has  got  the  better  of 
them.  He  was  clever  and  they  w^ere  dull,  and  he  took  them  in,  and 
now  they  lose  their  temper.”  Various  voices  interposed  with  cries  of 
“Question,  question.”  “I  am  sticking  to  the  question  very  closely ; 
much  more  closely  than  gentlemen  on  the  Treasury  bench  would  Ike. 
The  question  is  that  the  House  do  now  adjourn,  and  I support  the 


272 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


motion  for  adjournment  on  the  ground  that  we  are  simply  wasting 
time,  and  showing  ourselves  to  be  hypocrites  by  pretending  that  we 
don’t  make  every  use  we  can  of  conspiracy  and  conspirators  whenever 
it  suits  our  political  ends.  I turn  my  eyes  to  the  Treasury  bench, 
and  I see  a row  of  conspirators  there.  I look  to  the  front  bench  of 
Opposition,  and  I see  a rival  row  of  conspirators  there,  conspirators  of 
a different  kind.  I look  below  the  gangway,  and  I see  one  particular 
right  honourable  gentleman  singled  out  to  be  accused  of  tampering 
with  conspiracy.  I say  it  is  affectation,  absurdity,  political  hypocrisy ; 
and  I hope  the  House  will  make  up  its  mind  either  to  adjourn  at  once 
— sine  die , I would  suggest — or  to  get  on  with  its  business — if  it  has 
any  business  to  do.” 

Mr.  Fontaine  resumed  his  seat,  having  done  a good  deal  to  deprive 
the  whole  incident  of  its  melodramatic  character,  and  given,  as  he 
thought,  a chance  to  Morse  of  letting  the  thing  drop  without  a word. 
The  House,  however,  had  no  intention  of  being  balked  of  its  explanation. 

There  were  multitudinous  cries  of  “ Morse,  Morse!” — and  Morse, 
having  quietly  looked  round  and  satisfied  himself  that  no  one  else  was 
anxious  to  interpose,  got  up  and  addressed  himself  to  Mr.  Speaker. 
Every  eye  was  turned  on  him ; every  ear  was  strained  to  hear  what  he 
might  say.  The  stillness  as  he  rose  was  something  oppressive.  Goethe 
speaks  in  a fine  line  of  “darkness  with  its  myriad  eyes;”  has  not 
silence  sometimes  its  myriad  voices  which  shrill  in  the  pained  ears  of 
the  listener  ? 

Morse  began  in  a clear,  composed  tone,  audible  all  over  the  House. 
It  had  not  been  his  intention,  he  said,  to  notice  anonymous  charges 
made  in  a newspaper.  He  was  not  fond  of  the  practice  of  defending 
himself  against  anything  that  might  be  said  of  him  outside  the  walls 
of  that  House.  But  when  a question  had  been  raised  in  that  House 
he  felt  bound  to  answer  it  or,  at  least,  to  say  why  he  could  not  answer 
it.  There  were  two  charges  made  against  him.  One  was  that  he  had 
entered  into  some  plot  or  organization  having  for  its  object  to  set  aside 
the  succession  at  the  close  of  the  present  reign  in  England,  and  to 
establish  a republic.  On  that  subject  he  had  to  say  that  he  had 
entered  into  no  such  plot,  and  never,  until  within  the  last  day  or  two, 
heard  that  there  was  any  such  organization  in  existence.  The  House 
broke  into  one  unanimous  cheer  when  Morse  had  finished  his  sentence. 
He  waited  composedly,  and  then  went  on : “ I have  answered  that 
question  because  I think  it  entitled  to  an  answer.  A man  might  well 
be  a patriot  and  a man  of  honour,  and  yet  dream  of  establishing  a 
republic  in  this  country.”  He  reared  his  head  slightly  as  he  spoke, 
and  looked  round  the  House.  It  was  said  afterwards  that  there  was 
defiance  in  the  look.  The  applause  turned  into  an  almost  general 
roar  of  indignation.  Morse  waited  again.  The  roar  deepened  and 
strengthened. 

Lady  Betty’s  face  grew  white.  She  looked  with  a horror-stricken 
expression  at  her  companion,  who  pressed  her  hand  in  sympathy. 
Lord  Germilion,  in  his  corner  of  the  Peers’  Gallery  groaned  under 


A SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE: 


2 73 


cover  of  the  roar,  and  bit  his  moustache  fiercely.  If  a man  is  capable 
of  owning  himself  a republican  in  the  House  of  Commons  itself,  may 
it  not  be  presumed  that  he  is  also  capable  of  abetting  a conspiracy  ? 
Koorali  felt  her  frame  relax  under  the  stress.  She  shivered  with 
nervous  excitement.  It  is  a thrilling  sight,  even  for  the  unconcerned 
stranger,  to  see  a resolute  man  stand  up  alone  against  the  passionate 
House  of  Commons  in  one  of  its  fierce,  ungovernable  moods.  “ Oh, 
why  did  he  say  that?”  some  voices  in  the  House  itself  as  well  as  in 
the  Ladies’  Gallery  were  heard  to  ask.  “ Why  set  the  House  against 
him  ? ” “ Tme  and  noble  heart,”  Koorali  thought, “ that  hides  nothing 
for  mere  policy,  and  fears  nothing  so  much  as  untruth.”  “They  won’t 
listen  to  another  word  from  him,”  was  the  conviction  of  many  an 
observer.  But  Morse  knew  his  audience;  he  knew  that  the  House  of 
Commons  would  listen,  because  there  was  still  much  curiosity  as  to 
the  further  answers  he  might  have  to  make.  So  he  began  again  after 
a while,  and  the  House,  chafing  furiously,  did  not  want  to  lose  a word 
of  what  he  might  say,  and  so  choked  itself  and  listened. 

“ Therefore,  Mr.  Speaker,”  he  went  on,  “ I have  answered  the 
question,  and  *iave  told  the  House  that  although  I am  in  principle  a 
republican,  and  believe  the  republican  form  of  government  to  be  well 
suited  for  this  country  ” — here  there  was  another  outburst  of  frenzy 
and  noise;  Morse  waited,  and  then  got  his  chance  again — “I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  I never  belonged  to  any  organization  having 
for  its  object  any  disturbance  of  the  condition  of  things  which  thus 
far  seems  to  be  satisfactory  to  the  majority  of  the  English  people.” 

There  was  some  taint  applause ; there  was  some  grumbling  of  anger; 
there  were  some  ironical  cheers,  as  of  men  who  would  say,  “Indeed, 
and  verily,  you  are  considerate  of  our  ancient  institutions.” 

“The  next  accusation  against  me,”  Morse  said,  “is  of  a different 
order.  I am  accused,  as  I understand  it,  of  having  employed  foreign 
agents  and  used  the  money  of  an  unfriendly  foreign  State  to  get  up  a 
disturbance  in  this  country  which  should  weaken  England  on  the  eve 
of  a struggle  wTith  the  foreign  State  which  sent  the  agents  and  paid 
the  money.  Mr.  Speaker,  I am  the  representative  of  an  English 
constituency ; as  such  I am  entitled  to  be  considered  an  English  gentle- 
man. I should  claim  that  title  all  the  same  were  I working  with  my 
own  hands  for  daily  wages,  as  some  of  the  most  respected  and  honoured 
members  of  this  House  have  done  or,  perhaps,  are  still  doing ; and  I 
have  nothing  whatever  to  say  about  the  charge  which  has  been  brought 
against  me.” 

Then  Morse  paused,  and  the  House  drew  a deep  breath.  The  House 
was  puzzled.  Lord  Arden  and  a few  other  men  called  a loud  and 
emphatic  “Hear,  hear!  ” But  there  were  murmurs  of  dissatisfaction, 
of  surprise;  there  was  a want  of  understanding  in  the  House  as  to 
what  Morse  actually  meant.  A French  assembly  would  have  under- 
stood in  a moment,  and  even  enemies  would  have  broken  out  with 
peals  of  applause.  But  the  intelligence  of  the  House  of  Commons  is  a 
little  stiff  in  the  trigger. 


274 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


Then  suddenly,  as  though  by  com  mon  consent,  the  roar  broke  forth 
again.  The  House  of  Commons,  it  has  been  said,  has  more  wisdom 
than  any  one  member  of  it.  Very  likely;  but  then  the  House  of 
Commons  at  times  has  much  less  wisdom  and  far  more  passion  and 
wrath  than  any  one  member  of  it.  Any  one  member  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  were  he  the  dullest  or  the  most  light-headed,  would  have 
given  himself  time  enough  and  commanded  his  temper  sufficiently  to 
hear  and  understand  what  Morse  had  to  say,  provided  that  one  member 
were  Morse’s  w7hole  audience.  But  a number  of  fairly  reasonable  and 
orderly  men  seems,  when  brought  together  and  packed  Into  a room, 
to  produce  a crowd  of  unreasonable  and  disorderly  brawlers.  So  it 
certainly  proved  on  this  occasion.  The  House  lost  its  head.  Several 
hundred  throats  sent  out  their  furious  voices  in  one  roar  of  passion. 
Morse  stood  quietly  and  waited.  Even  when  speaking  he  used  but 
little  gesture.  Now  he  stood  erect  and  unmoved  as  a graven  image. 
His  face,  indeed,  had  something  of  the  statuesque  rigidity  of  bronze. 
Once  or  twice  a slight  smile  was  beginning  to  show  itself  on  the 
Napoleonic  features;  and  then  the  rigidity  returned.  His  manner  had 
in  it  nothing  of  defiance,  nothing  even  of  conflict ; he  was  merely 
independent  and  self-sustained.  The  Speaker  several  times  called  for 
order;  but  Canute  might  as  well  have  bidden  the  sea  to  still  its  noise 
wThile  it  was  breaking  on  the  beach.  The  passionate  throats  could  not 
be  restrained.  Crichton  Kenway,  in  one  of  the  seats  in  the  gallery, 
was  chuckling  with  delight;  his  wife,  in  the  Ladies’  Gallery,  was 
burning  with  shame. 

At  last  the  storm  subsided.  The  lull  was  permitted  because  several 
ineffectual  attempts  on  the  part  of  Sir  Roderick  Fathom  to  address 
the  House  showed  that  there  was  more  still  to  stimulate  wrath  and 
curiosity.  But  Sir  Roderick,  now  that  he  was  allowed  to  get  a word 
in,  only  half  rose  from  his  seat,  and  taking  off  his  hat  asked,  “ Do  I 
understand  the  right  honourable  gentleman  to  deny  the  charge  ? ” To 
do  the  honest  country  gentleman  justice,  he  only  wished  to  give  Morse 
a chance  of  making  his  denial  emphatic  and  explicit  enough  for  the 
intelligence  of  the  House  of  Commons. 

Morse,  of  course,  had  sat  down  and  put  on  his  hat  the  moment  Sir 
Roderick  interposed.  When  Sir  Roderick’s  question  was  finished,  he 
took  off  his  hat,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  answered  in  the  calmest  tones — 

“ Certainly  not.  To  a charge  like  that  I have  no  answer  to  make. 
If  any  of  my  countrymen  chooses  to  believe  it  of  me,  he  is  welcome  to 
do  so;  no  word  spoken  by  me  shall  ever  come  between  him  and  his 
belief.  I have  to  thank  the  House,  Mr.  Speaker,  for  the  courtesy  with 
which  they  have  listened  to  the  few  words  1 had  to  say.” 

The  House  remained  absolutely  silent  when  Morse  sat  down.  It 
was  utterly  puzzled.  After  all,  three  out  of  every  four  members  were 
commonplace  respectable  gentlemen  upon  whom  any  ultra-refinement 
of  sentiment  was  as  much  thrown  aw7ay  as  the  chivalry  of  Don  Quixote 
upon  the  honest  landlord  of  the  first  hostelry  he  entered.  What  most 
men  got  into  their  minds  was  that  Morse  had  distinctly  said  he  did 


“A  SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE; 


2 75 


Mot  deny  the  accusation,  the  worst  accusation,  made  against  him.  The 
other  accusation  he  did  explicitly  deny ; and  so  there  was  an  end  of 
that.  The  House  of  Commons,  to  do  it  justice,  always  takes  a man’s 
word.  But  why  not  deny  the  other  charge  as  well?  To  the  ordinary 
English  country  gentleman  or  the  ordinary  English  hank  director,  an 
attempt  to  set  aside  the  succession  and  establish  a republic  in  England 
would  be  about  as  heinous  a crime  as  man  could  possibly  commit. 
The  man  who  would  do  that  would  do  anything.  Why  should  not 
such  a man  take  foreign  gold  to  hire  assassins  to  stab  England  in  the 
back  at  her  time  of  uttermost  danger?  One  crime  was  no  worse  than 
the  other.  Why,  then,  should  a man,  if  he  were  guiltless  of  either, 
deny  the  one  charge  and  say  he  would  not  deny  the  other?  Almost 
incredible  as  it  may  seem,  the  fact  is  that  the  great  majority  of  the 
House  of  Commons  believed  that  Morse  refused  to  disavow  the  worst 
of  the  crimes  ascribed  to  him  because  he  felt  that  he  could  not  disavow 
it.  For  the  House  had  simply  lost  its  wits.  A day  or  two  after, 
when  the  truth  became  clearly  known,  the  dullest  squire  or  city  man 
wondered  how  he  had  failed  to  understand  Morse  rightly,  and  was 
sorry  for  the  failure,  and  felt  ashamed  and  penitent.  But  for  the 
moment  there  was  a misunderstanding,  and  the  majority  of  members 
actually  roared  arid  howled  with  fury  against  Morse,  as  he  rose  com- 
posedly, and,  bowing  to  the  Speaker,  left  his  place  and  walked  down 
the  floor.  A little  crowd  of  members  who  could  not  find  seats  on  the 
benches  of  the  House  stood  below  the  bar  and  blocked  the  way.  Morse 
had  to  pass  through  them.  Many  of  them  glared  fiercely  at  him,  and 
there  were  murmurs  and  grumbles  of  wrath.  Morse  blandly  apologized 
for  having  to  crush  his  way  through  them.  All  the  time  the  furious 
outcry  of  the  majority  of  the  House  was  ringing  in  his  ears.  Suddenly 
Lord  Arden  appeared  among  the  little  crowd  at  the  bar,  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

“My  dear  Morse,  how  delighted  I am!  You  said  and  did  just  the 
right  thing.  Deny  a blackguard  charge  like  that,  made  by  some 
nameless  scoundrel?  By  Jove,  1 would  as  soon  deny  a charge  of 
picking  old  Roderick  Fathom’s  pocket ! I congratulate  you.  Let  the 
confounded  fools  there  howl  as  much  as  they  like.  They’ll  be  sorry 
enough  when  they  come  to  their  senses  to-morrow.” 

“ They  talk  of  our  House  of  Representatives — our  chamber  at 
Washington,  you  know” — Mr.  Paulton  said  to  the  young  Envoy,  his 
neighbour  in  the  Ambassadors’  Gallery,  “but  I never  saw  such 
rowdyism  there,  nor  such  a scene  as  this;  nor  a whole  mob  howling 
ai  one  man  because  he  refuses  to  degrade  himself  by  denying  an  out- 
rageous charge.” 

“That  is  what  your  representative  government  comes  to,”  the  Envoy 
answered  blandly.  “ In  my  country,  that  man  would  be  understood 
and  appreciated  by  his  sovereign,  and  he  would  not  be  left  to  the 
mercy  of  that  howling  mob — to  use  your  expression — which  I think 
is  a very  appropriate  one.” 

“ I am  sorry  for  Mr.  Morse,”  Paulton  said.  “ From  what  I know  of 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


276 

him  I believe  in  him  and  I respect  him.  He  ought  to  go  out  to  the 
States ; we  should  make  much  of  him  there.” 

“ I know  him  well,”  the  Envoy  said.  “ He  is  a patriot  and  a lover 
of  his  country.  He  ought  to  come  out  and  settle  among  us.  He  would 
have  a career  there ; our  Emperor  knows  a great  man  when  he  sees 
him.” 

“Ah,  but  yours  is  a despotism,”  Mr.  Paul  ton  observed,  with  a smile 
“Call  it  anything  you  like;  only  tell  me  what  you  call  the  sort  oi 
thing  that  has  been  going  on  below  us  for  the  last  few  minutes.  But, 
pardon  me,  you  have  given  it  a name.  You  have  called  this  assembly 
a howling  mob.  Bien — would  you  rather  have  the  despotism  cf  a 
calm  wise  sovereign  or  that  of  a howling  mob  ? For  me,  I prefer  the 
despot  sovereign  to  the  despot  mob.” 

The  incident  was  over.  The  Speaker  called  upon  the  clerk  to  “ pro- 
ceed to  read  the  orders  of  the  day ; ” in  other  words,  to  go  on  with  the 
regular  and  routine  business  of  the  sitting.  It  was  getting  towards 
seven  o’clock.  It  was  about  time  to  think  of  going  home  and  dressing 
for  dinner.  Members  hurried  into  the  library,  the  reading-room,  and 
the  lobbies,  to  scratch  off  hasty  letters,  in  order  to  catch  the  last  post. 
Strangers  got  up  and  lounged  away,  casting  parting  looks  on  the 
emptying  house.  The  ladies  began  to  stream,  a vivacious  and  chatter- 
ing crowd,  out  of  their  gallery.  Koorali  and  Lady  Betty  found  them- 
selves side  by  side,  driven  together  by  the  stream.  Neither  had  known 
before  that  the  other  was  present.  They  stopped  in  the  lobby  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  into  each  other’s  eyes  and  clasped  their  hands. 
Their  hearts  were  beating  loudly ; each  could  hear  the  pulsation  of  her 
own.  Each  woman  had  tears  of  emotion  sparkling  in  her  eyes.  It 
might  surely  have  been  supposed  by  any  looker-on  that  their  feelings 
were  in  absolute  sympathy. 

“ Dear,  dear  Lady  Betty  ! ” Koorali  exclaimed. 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Ken  way  ! Is  it  not  terrible  ? You  heard ” 

“ Oh  yes,  I heard.” 

“ How  they  all  hate  him ! ” 

“ Yes.  What  cowards  some  men  are ! ” 

“ He  did  not  deny  it,”  Lady  Betty  said,  with  a sob. 

“ Deny  it ! ” Koorali  said  with  a flush  of  surprise  and  anger.  “ Of 
course  he  didn’t  deny  it.  Why  should  he  ? Imagine  Mr.  Morse — your 
husband — stooping  to  deny  a charge  like  that,  made  on  the  faith  of 
some  nameless  slander  ! ” 

Lady  Betty  looked  at  her  with  wonder,  in  which  there  was  a trace 
of  resentment.  “ You — don’t — believe  it  ? ” she  asked. 

“ Believe  it ! ” Koorali  exclaimed.  “ Oh,  my  God!  ” 

The  exclamation  was  forced  from  her  by  the  intensity,  the  agony 
of  her  feelings.  The  agony  was  not  because  of  the  public  attack  made 
upon  Morse,  or  because  of  any  trouble  that  might  come  upon  his 
parliamentary  career.  But  the  thought  that  his  wife  could  even  for  a 
moment  admit  in  her  mind  the  possibility  of  such  a charge  being  true, 
true  of  such  a man,  true  of  her  own  husband,  was  terrible  to  Koorali. 


“A  SCENE  IN  THE  HOUSE} 


27  7 

Why,  it  might  well  break  even  his  brave  and  strong  heart  if  he  were 
to  come  to  know  it. 

“Oh,  Lady  Betty,”  she  whispered,  in  fervent  appeal,  “ if  you  have 
allowed  such  an  idea  into  your  mind,  pray,  pray  don’t  ever  let  him 
know  of  it.” 

She  spoke  in  low  agitated  tones.  At  that  moment  it  was  impossible 
to  command  look  or  voice.  She  had  caught  Lady  Betty’s  hand  in 
hers,  and  the  two  women  stood  close  together.  Suddenly  Koorali  felt 
the  hand  wrenched  from  her  own.  Lady  Betty  uttered  a little  inarticu- 
late cry. 

“Oh,  but — you—  from  you,”  she  began,  and  stopped.  She  could 
not  put  into  words  the  passion,  the  reproach,  the  jealousy,  the  wounded 
pride  which  swept  over  her  like  a rushing  flood.  Her  vague  dread  had 
become  a crushing  reality.  She  knew  with  the  most  intense  conviction 
that  Koor&li  loved  Morse.  Deep  in  her  heart  there  had  lain  for  some 
time  the  fear  that  Morse  loved  Koorali.  Her  slow  imagination  ran 
riot  now.  In  this  hour  of  defeat  and  disgrace  a still  worse  humiliation 
was  to  befall  her.  She  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  woman  preferred  to 
her  with  one  quick  scathing  flash  of  indignation.  There  was  in  the 
look  more  of  wrath  than  of  pain.  She  said  not  a word.  They  were 
parted. 

Koorali  hurried  away.  She  had  not  taken  in  the  full  meaning  of 
that  strange  look.  She  was  thinking  of  nothing  at  first  but  of  the 
appalling  fact  that  Lady  Betty  evidently  believed  there  was  some 
foundation  for  the  charge  against  Morse.  “ She  can’t  love  him  ; she  is 
not  capable  of  loving  him,”  Koorkli  said  to  herself  in  generous  anger. 
“ He  has  no  one— no  one — no  one  to  love  him.  His  own  wife  turns 
against  him.”  If  at  this  moment  another  thought  should  force  itself 
into  Koorali’ s mind;  if  for  an  instant  she  should  allow  her  heart  to  say 
to  her,  “ Oh ! if  you  were  his  wife,  how  you  would  have  loved  him, 
and  trusted  him,  and  clung  to  him,  and  cleaved  to  him  at  a time  like 
this!  ” is  there  any  moralist  so  stern  as  to  find  much  fault  with  the 
fond  and  faithful  Australian  woman,  gifted  with  such  an  unused  wealth 
of  affection,  tried  just  then  by  such  strong  temptation  ? 

At  the  entrance  in  the  courtyard,  Lady  Betty,  when  she  came  down 
all  flushed  and  agitated,  found  herself  seized  by  her  father.  He  was 
fearfully  excited. 

“ Come  home  with  me,  Betty,”  he  said  in  shrill  tones.  “ Get  into 
my  carriage.  Come  to  your  father’s  house,  my  child.  You  never  could 
live  with  that  man  again.  A daughter  of  mine  can’t  stay  under  the 
same  roof  with  a seditious  anarchist  and  an  avowed  enemy  to  his 
sovereign  and  his  country  ! ” 

Lady  Betty  cast  a wild  glance  at  him  and  then  at  the  place  she  had 
left.  She  was  trembling  with  conflicting  emotions.  In  that  backward 
glance  there  seemed  something  of  the  wife’s  impulse  to  face  the  worst 
by  her  husband’s  side.  So  Lord  Germilion  interpreted  it.  His  grasp 
on  her  hand  tightened.  At  that  instant  Lady  Betty  again  saw  KoorMi 
in  the  thinning  crowd — Koorali,  whose  eyes  met  hers  with  that  high 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE > 


278 

steadfast  look  which  seemed  to  Lady  Betty,  in  this  moment  of  torture 
and  humiliation,  the  look  of  a triumphant  rival. 

“ What  shall  I do?  What  can  I do?”  she  asked  in  a passionate 
whisper.  “He  dees  not  love  me  any  more.  It  is  not  for  my  opinion 
that  he  cares.  Everything  is  changed  between  us.” 

“ How  could  it  be  otherwise  ? You— my  daughter — your  instincts 
— your  training,  did  not  fit  you  to  he  the  wife  of  such  a man  as  he.” 

Lord  Germilion  was  intensely  moved.  The  wounded  pride,  the 
anger  against  Morse,  the  deep  tenderness  for  her  which  showed  in  his 
face  were  in  a strange  contradictory  way  a stimulant  and  a comfort  to 
Lady  Betty.  Here  she  was  understood  and  prized.  She  was  justified 
in  her  own  sight.  Here  was  a haven,  a strong  arm  of  support.  Only 
the  stress  of  great  emotion  could  have  made  her  confess,  even  to  her 
father,  that  she  had  lost  her  husband’s  love.  But  now  it  seemed  to 
her  that  t^e-e  two — father  and  daughter,  of  the  same  race  and  order, 
stricken  in  like  manner — must  needs  cling  to  and  uphold  each  other. 
She  had  always  been  more  or  less  pliable  in  his  hands.  She  had  always 
followed  his  advice  and  leaned  on  his  judgment.  She  suffered  him  to 
lead  her  to  his  carriage — her  own  was  in  waiting,  but  Lord  Germilion 
waved  the  footman  away.  There  was  no  time  for  argument,  nor  was 
Lady  Betty  capable  of  it.  Her  mind  was  in  too  great  a tumult.  She 
had,  indeed,  a frenzied  longing  that  Morse  should  know  at  once  to 
what  he  had  brought  himself  and  her.  He  should  see  that  the  people 
she  belonged  to  would  not  allow  her  to  be  outraged,  but  would  protect 
their  own.  She  got  into  the  carriage.  There  w^as  a little  delay. 
Lord  Germilion  gave  the  order  to  his  house — not  to  hers.  Lady  Betty 
leaned  back  and  burst  into  a flood  of  tears.  He  tenderly  pressed  her 
hands. 

“ Your  place  is  with  me,”  he  said.  “ Your  husband  must  clea** 
himself  of  this  shameful  accusation  and  show  that  he  has  no  part  in 
treason  and  conspiracy  before  he  ventures  to  claim  his  wife  from  her 
father.” 

Just  then  Lord  Arden  came  to  the  carriage  window.  He  had  hurried 
round  to  the  entrance  of  the  Ladies’  Gallery  to  speak  to  Lady  Betty 
and  Koorali.  He  had  seen  the  agitation  of  Lady  Betty,  and  he  had 
heard  some  of  the  words  spoken  by  Lord  Germilion.  He  knew  that 
the  movement  was  critical,  and  that  if  Lady  Betty  left  her  husband 
now  she  might  all  her  life  regret  the  step.  He  pressed  forward. 

’ “ Lady  Betty,”  he  exclaimed,  “ I want  to  speak  to  you.  I shall  find 

you  at  home  later?” 

“No,”  Lord  Germilion  interrupted  harshly.  “Lady  Betty  is  going 
to  my  house.  She  will  not  return  to  her  own  yet — not  till  all  this 
matter  is  cleared — if  it  can  be  cleared.  My  daughter  is  not  a republican. 
She  will  not  have  any  dealings  with  anarchists  who  plot  against  their 
sovereign  and  their  country.” 

Arden  burst  into  an  angry  laugh.  “ Good  heavens  ! ” he  exclaimed. 
“You  don’t  believe  that?  Oh,  Lady  Betty,”  he  cried  imploringly, 
“surely,  surely ” 


CRICHTON'S  REVENGE. 


279 


But  his  voice  was  lost.  The  horses  made  a movement  forward  aa 
the  block  gave  way,  and  Lord  Germilion,  annoyed  at  the  remonstrance 
and  anxious  to  spare  his  daughter,  gave  the  order  to  drive  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

Crichton’s  revenge. 

At  the  door  of  the  Ladies’  Gallery  Koorali  found  Ken  way  waiting  for 
her.  There  was  a glitter  in  his  eyes  which  it  hurt  her  to  see.  His 
face  was  flushed.  There  was  something  strange  and  inexpressibly 
distasteful  to  her  in  his  look  and  manner.  As  he  came  near  her  and 
drew  her  rather  roughly  out  of  the  crowd  towards  the  carriage,  she 
noticed  about  him  a sickly  smell  of  spirits — which,  indeed,  she  had 
remarked  more  than  once  of  late.  Ken  way,  fairly  abstemious  when 
the  world  was  going  well  with  him,  occasionally  allowed  his  coarser 
tendencies  to  get  the  better  of  him  when  he  was  troubled  and,  as  he 
expressed  it,  “down  on  bis  luck.”  Just  now,  however,  he  seemed  in 
exultation.  He  said  nothing  until  they  were  in  the  brougham,  driving 
homeward. 

“ Well,  there  has  been  a jolly  row  downstairs,”  was  his  first  remark. 

Koorali  was  too  much  taken  up  with  her  own  emotions  to  notice  the 
form  of  his  comment.  She  felt  so  strongly  that  words  seemed  forced 
from  her  ; she  had  to  speak  even  to  him. 

“ Crichton,”  she  said  in  a kind  of  awe-stricken  tone,  “ do  you  know 
— would  you  ever  imagine  it  ? — I think  Lady  Betty  Morse  believes 
that  shocking  calumny  against  her  husband.  Yes;  I am  afraid  she 
does.  She  almost  said  so ! ” 

“ Does  she,  really  ? By  Jove,  I shouldn’t  have  expected  that ! I 
am  devilish  glad  to  hear  it.  How  like  a man’s  wife— to  believe  any- 
thing against  her  husband!  I am  so  glad.  Well,  Koorali,  I think 
I have  had  my  turn  out  of  him — and  out  of  you  too,  old  girl ! I have 
made  your  friend  Morse  sit  up  a bit.  I told  you  1 would  have  my 
revenge;  and  I have  had  it!  He’ll  never  get  over  this.  He  has  had 
his  day ; this  is  my  day.” 

Koorali  turned  cold  all  over.  She  felt  her  flesh  creep.  She  stared 
at  her  chuckling  husband. 

“ Your  day — your  revenge  ? Crichton ! what  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ I mean  what  I say.  1 have  had  my  revenge.” 

Koorali  did  not  answer  him  or  say  another  word  while  they  were 
driving  home.  She  remained  in  silence,  not  even  looking  at  him. 
She  had  a perception  somehow  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  and 
that  he  was  enjoying  what  he  conceived  to  be  a triumph  over  her. 
She  gazed  steadfastly  out  of  the  carriage  window  as  they  were  driven 
through  the  lighted  streets.  A light  shower  of  snow  had  begun  to  fall, 
and  the  air  was  piercingly  cold.  It  was  the  first  snow  of  the  winter — 
the  first  snow  Koorali  .had  ever  seen;  but  there  was  very  little  of  it 


2 SO 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


yet.  Let  her  live  as  long  as  she  may  she  will  never  forget  that  short 
drive  homo;  nor  the  look  of  their  house  as  they  came  to  it;  nor 
Kenway’s  manner  of  formal  and  put-on  politeness  as  he  offered  to  help 
her  out  of  the  carriage.  She  ran  upstairs  swiitly  before  him.  They 
were  engaged  to  dine  out  this  evening;  and  it  was  getting  late  already. 
She  went  into  the  sitting-room. 

“ About  time  to  dress,  Koorali,”  Crichton  said,  pausing  at  the  door 
of  the  room.  “ Look  at  the  clock.” 

His  strange  manner,  so  composed  and  yet  so  malignant,  gave  her  a 
miserable  feeling  of  dread  and  absolute  insecurity.  And  yet  she  had 
the  instinct  of  battle ; she  seemed  to  know  that  the  crisis  of  her  fate 
had  come,  and  that  after  this  there  could  be  no  half- measures.  She  had 
an  impulse  to  denounce  him  as  traitor  and  liar.  But  the  very  strength 
of  her  suspicion  horrified  her.  She  clung  to  the  last  shred  of  faith. 

“ Crichton,”  she  said,  turning  to  him,  “ Crichton — my  husband  ” — 
she  seemed  to  use  these  words  for  her  own  sake,  to  herself,  to  remind 
her  that  after  all  he  was  her  husband,  and  was  entitled  to  at  least  a 
chance  of  clearing  himself  in  her  mind — “ is  there  any  real  meaning  in 
what  you  said?  Have  you  anything  to  do  with  this  attack  on  Mr. 
Morse?  Do  you  know  anything  about  it?  Oh,  you  don’t;  I am 
sure  you  don’t ! Tell  me ! ” 

He  came  into  the  room  as  she  spoke,  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him.  A bright  fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth.  He  went  towards  it, 
and  stood  facing  her. 

“ Of  course  I know  all  about  it.  The  whole  thing  is  my  doing.  I 
don’t  mind  your  knowing  it ; not  one  bit.  I would  rather  you  did 
know  it;  and  at  once.  It  will  teach  you,  Koorali,  that  I am  a man  of 
my  word ; it  will  let  you  know  that  1 am  not  a person  to  be  played 
with  or  fooled.  I mean  what  I say,  and  when  I threaten,  I strike. 
That’s  about  it.” 

“But  I don’t  understand,”  Koorali  said,  wdth  a stony  calmness 
that  might  have  surprised  herself.  “ What  have  you  to  do  with  it  ? 
What  have  you  done?  Please,  Crichton,  tell  me  in  plain  words.  I 
am  very  stupid — you  have  often  said  so — I can’t  guess  things  or  explain 
mysterious  hints.  What  have  you  done?” 

“ I’ll  make  it  plain  enough,”  he  answered  -with  a laugh.  “ It  was  I 
who  supplied  the  information  to  the  Piccadilly  Gazette ; it  was  I who 
wrote  the  letters ; it  was  I who  persuaded  the  editor  to  back  them  up. 
Alone  I did  it,  Koorali.  That  was  my  revenge ! ” 

“ Pievenge ! ” she  cried.  “ For  what?  Crichton,  do  you  mean  that 
it  was  you  who  made  this  charge  against  Mr.  Morse ; against  our  bene- 
factor ; against  our  one  only  friend?  ” 

“ Benefactor  be  hanged ! He  hasn’t  been  much  of  a benefactor  to 
me.  He  kept  me  hanging  on  in  expectation  until  I am  pretty  well 
ruined ; and  then  he  throws  up  the  whole  thing,  and  forces  on  me  this 
Farnesia  appointment,  which  I hate.  I don’t  know  how  far  he  has 
been  a benefactor  to  you.  You  know  your  own  affairs  best,  I suppose. 

1 speak  for  myself.” 


CRICHTON'S  REVENGE . 281 

“ It  was  you  who  got  up  this  charge  against  Mr.  Morse  ? ” she  asked 
again. 

“ Why,  certainly.  Haven’t  I told  you  that  it  was  my  revenge  ? It 
would  never  have  been  heard  of  but  for  me.  I have  been  pipe-laying, 
as  the  Americans  say,  for  it  this  long  time.  I began  keeping  an  eye 
on  your  friend’s  movements  long  ago,  thinking  it  might  be  well  to  find 
out  something — to  have  something  in  readiness.  The  very  first  night 
that  we  dined  at  his  house,  I followed  your  immaculate  hero  to  a 
meeting  of  socialists  and  foreign  spies.  I waited  outside  the  house, 
and  saw  him  walk  away.  I spotted  him  in  the  company  of  those 
very  men  who  provoked  the  riots.” 

“ Do  you  believe  the  story — yourself?” 

“ Why  not?  Why  shouldn’t  it  be  true?  You  heard  what  he  said. 
You  didn’t  hear  him  deny  it,  did  you  ? ” 

“ If  some  one  were  to  accuse  you  of  forging  a cheque  or  swindling, 
would  you  deny  it,  Crichton  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I should.  All  the  more  loudly  and  readily,  I dare  say, 
if  the  charge  happened  to  be  true.” 

"Well,  I asked  you  a question,  Crichton.  Do  you  believe  the 
story  ? ” 

“ That  doesn’t  matter.  The  House  of  Commons  believed  it ; the 
country  believes  it.” 

“ Again,  Crichton  ” — and  she  looked  him  fixedly  in  the  face,  the 
pupils  of  her  eyes  enlarging  and  contracting  with  intense  emotion — 
“ do  you  believe  it — yourself?  ” 

“ Well,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  I don’t  think  I do.  But  what  about 
that?  Any  stick  will  do,  you  know,  to  beat  a dog.” 

“ You  know  it  isn’t  true.” 

“ Yes  ; I suppose  so.  I fancy  it  isn’t  true.  But  it  will  smash  him 
for  the  moment.” 

“ For  the  moment,  perhaps.  But  do  you  suppose  there  will  not  be 
a revulsion  ? Do  you  suppose  that  the  country  will  not  soon  do  him 
justice  ? Your  revenge  will  not  be  a very  lasting  one,  Crichton.  But 
no  matter” — she  moved  back  a step  or  two,  and  let  her  arms  fall  with 
a gesture  of  passionate  disgust  as  if  she  would  shake  herself  free  of 
defilement — “ you  have  done  a thing  which  has  settled  the  question 
for  ever  between  you  and  me.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  he  asked  savagely,  and  he  came  close  to 
her,  so  close  that  she  could  again  notice  the  fumes  of  brandy  in  his 
breath.  He  had  been  drinking  at  intervals  all  day — not  enough  to 
cloud  his  brain,  but  enough  to  make  him  no  longer  master  of  himself. 
I1  here  was  a fiery  gleam  in  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  was  rough  and 
harsh. 

" You  have  committed  a crime  as  great  almost  as  any  that  a man 
could  commit.  I had  rather  hear  you  confess  you  had  done  a murder. 
You — an  English  gentleman ! ” she  said,  in  cold,  measured  tones  which 
fell  like  drops  of  ice- water.  “ You — followed  a man  whose  guest  you 
had  been,  who  had  none  but  kindly  feelings  to  you  and  yours,  and 

19 


282 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


spied  upon  his  secrets,  meaning  to  turn  them  as  a weapon  against  him, 
And  then  you  met  him  day  after  day,  and  took  his  hand,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  his  friend ; and  would  have  set  your  wife  to  buy  favours 
from  him ! ” 

All  the  time  that  she  was  speaking,  her  eyes,  clear,  dilated,  and  full 
of  unutterable  contempt,  met  his  straight.  A spirit  of  defiance,  of 
scorn,  of  hatred,  had  risen  within  her  and  taken  possession  of  her  soul. 
She  was  completely  adrift  from  her  moorings.  She  cared  not  what 
might  happen  to  her.  Her  words  goaded  him  to  fury. 

“ By  God ! ” he  exclaimed,  “ I believed  you  an  honest  woman  till 
now,  and  now  I know  that  you  are  Sandham  Morse’s  mistress.” 

Koorali  shrank  back,  putting  up  her  hand  with  a quick  gesture,  as 
if  she  had  been  stabbed.  Her  face  was  white  as  death,  her  very  lips 
blanched. 

“ Deny  it  ” Crichton  exclaimed,  with  a laugh  which  seemed  to  her 
like  that  of  a fiend  or  a madman,  “ you  cannot.” 

In  an  instant  she  recovered  herself,  and  faced  him  again,  her  small 
form  reared,  her  head  erect,  and  her  eyes  wide  and  glistening,  not 
blenching  before  his.  She  let  her  arms  fall  again,  and  they  hung 
straight  at  her  sides.  Something  in  her  attitude  and  expression 
reminded  him  of  Morse’s  look  when  he  silently  faced  his  accusers  in 
the  House. 

“ I see,”  he  said,  with  another  coarse  laugh,  “ you  take  pattern  from 
your  lover.” 

“ I do,”  she  answered  steadily,  not  lowering  her  gaze.  “ I will  not 
deny  such  a charge.” 

Crichton  sprang  forward  and  seized  her  arms.  He  uttered  a low, 
deep  oath. 

“If  you  look  at  me  like  that,”  he  said,  “ I’ll  turn  you  into  the 
street.” 

At  that  moment  KoorMi  was  hardly  conscious  of  Crichton’s  grasp, 
or  of  any  strong  feeling  on  her  own  part.  She  had  no  vivid  conception 
of  the  situation.  Sensation  was  numbed,  and  for  the  time  she  had 
lost  her  reasoning  faculty.  Even  her  maternal  instinct  was  in  abeyance. 
She  was  at  the  white  heat  of  emotion.  She  seemed  to  know  only  that 
some  influence  stronger  than  her  own  will  was  framing  the  words  in 
her  mouth,  and  forcing  her  to  utter  all  that  had  been  pent  up  during 
years  of  wretchedness  and  self-repression. 

“ Yes,”  she  said,  “ put  me  out  of  your  house.  Strike  me,  if  you 
please.  I am  not  afraid  of  you,  now  that  I know  what  you  are — a 
coward,  a spy,  and  a liar.” 

For  a few  seconds  there  was  a breathless  pause,  like  that  which  in 
an  encounter  with  a beast  of  prey  may  precede  the  fatal  spring.  Koo- 
rali felt  the  grasp  on  her  arms  tighten  as  if  they  were  in  a vice.  She 
thought  they  were  being  broken.  Her  eyes  clung  with  a horrible  fas- 
cination to  his  face.  Everything  swam  before  her.  She  saw  nothing 
but  those  fierce  reddened  eyes  gleaming  with  rage  and  hate.  She 
thought  for  an  instant  that  he  would  kill  her. 


CRICHTON'S  REVENGE . 


283 

Suddenly  the  hold  relaxed  completely.  Her  arms  fell  nerveless. 
Crichton  moved  back  a step  or  two.  She  staggered.  A sensation  of 
giddiness  and  deadly  sickness  came  over  her.  She  did  not  know 
whether  she  had  fainted  or  not.  Everything  was  dark  for  a moment. 
When  she  became  conscious  again  she  was  leaning  against  the  grand 
piano ; and  there  flashed  through  her  memory  an  odd,  inconsequent 
vision  of  Morse  as  he  had  leaned  over  the  instrument  and  had  watched 
her  while  she  put  together  the  bulrushes  and  daisies.  And  then  she 
seemed  to  hear  the  breeze  rustling  the  reeds  on  the  bank  of  the  river 
Lynde ; and  with  a swift  sharp  pang  she  felt  the  conviction  that  she 
would  never  again  see  the  sunset— the  old  gods  transformed  into  even- 
ing clouds,  as  Morse  once  told  her  Heine  had  called  them — floating 
across  the  meadows  at  the  Grey  Manor. 

Presently  she  knew  that  Crichton  was  speaking.  He  was  standing 
now  away  from  her,  and  almost  as  quiet  as  herself.  He  looked  no 
longer  violent,  but  only  hard  and  sinister  and  resolute.  His  self-con- 
quest gave  him  a sort  of  dignity  that  deepened  in  Koorali’s  mind  the 
sense  of  irrevocableness.  There  had  been  said  and  done  that  which 
could  never  be  unsaid  and  undone.  His  very  recognition  of  this  fact, 
which  she  saw  in  his  face,  lifted  him  in  her  estimation  to  a higher 
level.  He  seemed  something  more  than  a cowardly  cur. 

“ You’re  a woman,”  he  said,  “and  I can’t  strike  you.  I can’t  put 
you  out  of  my  house  into  the  night.  But  I’ll  not  sleep  under  the 
same  roof  with  you  again.” 

It  had  come— the  release!  For  the  moment,  it  was  as  if  there  had 
been  an  inrush  of  pure  air  and  glorious  sunlight — and  then  black 
terror  like  the  falling  of  the  stone  upon  the  mouth  of  a tomb.  She 
straightened  herself  a little  and  bent  forward  with  parted  lips.  The 
anxious  questioning  in  her  gaze  sharpened  to  agony. 

“ I may  go,”  she  said  ; then  paused.  “ And  the  children  ? ” 

“ You  may  go — where  you  please.  To  Morse,  or  to  your  father. 
The  children  will  stay  with  me.  I do  not  know  yet  what  I shall  do 
with  them.  Probably  send  them  both  to  a strict  school,  where  they 
will  be  well  brought  up.” 

“ You  cannot  put  me  out  of  your  home,”  cried  Koor&li.  “ You  can- 
not part  me  from  my  children.  The  law  would  defend  me.” 

“ The  law  does  not  forbid  a father  to  send  his  boys  to  school,”  replied 
Crichton  coldly.  “ The  law,  I believe,  may,  under  certain  conditions, 
compel  what  is  called  a restitution  of  conjugal  rights.  You  have  that 
alternative.” 

Koorali  uttered  one  low  cry  and  was  silent.  She  had  the  impulse  of 
a mother  whose  actions  have  unjustly  condemned  her  children  to  death, 
and  who  will  save  them  at  any  cost.  Her  resolution  was  taken. 

“ I am  willing  to  come  to  any  reasonable  arrangement  about  money,” 
said  Crichton.  “ In  the  meantime,  you  will  require  some,  whatever 
your  plans  may  be.  You  will  find  here  rather  more  than  is  needed 
for  your  passage  to  Australia.”  He  took  out  a pocket-book  as  he 
spoke,  and  opening  it,  divided  a bundle  of  bank-notes,  half  of  which 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


284 

lie  handed  to  her.  “ It’s  only  right,”  he  added,  with  that  horrible 
laugh,  “ that  you  should  have  your  share  of  the  plunder.  This  is  the 
price  which  the  Piccadilly  Gazette  gave  for — my  information.” 

Courage  flamed  in  her.  She  came  forward  and  took  the  bundle  from 
his  hand.  She  moved  back  a little,  then  before  his  eyes  deliberately 
tore  the  notes  across,  then  across  again,  and  flung  the  pieces  on  the 
floor. 

He  made  a gesture  as  if  he  would  have  fell  upon  her  and  throttled 
her  there  and  then ; but  again  by  a violent  effort  he  restrained  him- 
self, and  abruptly  turning  he  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  her  stand- 
ing there  with  the  shreds  of  the  bank-notes  scattered  round  her. 

She  remained  in  a dazed  way,  incoherently  thinking.  Exactly  at 
eight  o’clock  she  heard  Ken  way  leave  the  house  to  go  to  his  dinner- 
party. She  could  picture  him  to  herself  entering  the  drawing-room  of 
the  house  where  he  was  to  diue,  advancing  all  smiles  and  grace  to  his 
hostess,  and  making  some  sweet  apologetic  explanation  of  dearest  Koo- 
rali’s  absence,  and  conveying  the  expression  of  her  regrets,  and  regards, 
and  loves,  and  so  forth.  Koorali  could  not  help  letting  her  thoughts 
wander  in  this  idle  way  and  painting  for  herself  this  unimportant 
little  picture.  When  he  was  gone,  she  dragged  herself  upstairs,  still 
physically  weak,  and  too  bewildered  quite  to  realize  what  had 
happened.  Her  hoys’  voices  in  the  nursery  seemed  to  call  her  there. 
They  were  amusing  themselves  alone.  Lance  was  tinkering  up  a 
battered  steam-engine,  and  Miles  was  spelling  out  a nursery  rhyme 
from  one  of  his  toy-books — 

“ A carrion  crow  sat  on  an  oak , 

Derry , derry , derry , decco ; 

A carrion  crow  sat  on  an  oak, 

Watching  a tailor  shaping  his  cloak , 

Heigh  ho  1 the  carrion  crow . Derry , derry , derry , decco.” 

KoorMi  stood  for  a minute  in  the  doorway  and  looked  at  her  children. 
All  the  tragedy  of  the  situation  rushed  over  her  in  strange  contrast 
with  this  homely  little  scene.  An  exclamation  like  a groan  broke  from 
her.  The  boys  looked  up  and  saw  her  standing  there,  still  in  her  street 
dress. 

“Mother,”  said  Lance,  “ aren’t  you  going  to  the  party  with 
father  ? ” 

“ No,”  she  answered.  “ I’m  going  to  stay — with  my  children.” 

Something  in  her  voice  startled  both  the  boys.  Larice  put  down  his 
steam-engine,  and  Miles  crept  up  to  her,  his  book  in  his  hand. 

“ Mayn’t  we  come  down,  then,  mother,  to  the  drawing-room  ? No 
one  will  come  to  undress  us  for  ever  so  long  yet.” 

“ We  will  stay  here,”  said  Koorali.  Suddenly  she  began  to  see, 
from  their  wondering  faces,  that  her  look  and  tone  were  giving  them 
the  impression  that  something  was  amiss.  She  roused  herself  to  a 
kind  of  hysterical  gaiety  and  interest  in  their  amusements.  First, 
Lance  would  have  her  play  at  lotto  with  them,  and  then  Miles  begged 
for  one  of  Grimm’s  fairy  tales. 


CRICHTONS  REVENJE . 


285 

Koor&li  went  through  the  game,  and  then  read,  read  on  mechani- 
cally. And  all  the  time  her  despairing  resolve  was  becoming  fixed  into 
an  unalterable  purpose.  She  did  not  know  whether  Crichton  had 
really  meant  what  he  said,  and  had  gone  from  the  house  not  intending 
to  return  till  she  had  left  it ; but  she  knew  that  she  meant  to  take 
away  her  children,  and  to  hold  them  till  they  were  actually  wrested 
from  her. 

She  asked,  putting  down  the  book,  “ Lance,  should  you  like  to  go 
back  to  Australia?” 

“ Oh,  jolly ! ” cried  Lance.  “ It’s  ever  so  much  better  than  Farnesia, 
I am  sure.  I say,  mother,  father  showed  me  some  snakes  that  had 
come  from  Farnesia  in  the  Zoo — weenie  things,  not  much  bigger  than 
slow-worms.  I say,  do  you  know  that  if  you  cut  a slow-worm  in 
pieces,  it’ll  join  together  again  ? ” 

“ If  you  put  one  jit  in  Asia  and  one  in  Africa,  it  wouldn’t  join,” 
said  Miles. 

“ Oh,  bother  ! ” exclaimed  Lance. 

Just  then  their  nurse,  who  was  Koorali’s  maid  as  well,  came  in, 
full  of  concern  because  her  mistress  had  not  gone  to  dress.  The 
woman  guessed  that  there  had  been  a quarrel.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  that  KoorMi  had  taken  refuge  in  the  nursery  after  an  unpleasant 
scene  with  her  husband. 

“Oh,  ma’am!”  she  exclaimed,  “I  was  afraid  you  mightn’t  be  well. 
Shall  you  dress  later  ? ” 

“ I am  not  going  out  this  evening,”  answered  Koor&li,  commanding 
her  face  and  voice.  “ I shan’t  want  you,  Amelia.” 

“ If  you  please,  ma’am,  cook  did  not  understand  that  you  would  be 
at  home,  and  would  like  to  know  if  you  will  require  dinner.” 

“No,”  answered  Koorali,  “I’m  not  feeling  very  well,  Amelia.  I 
couldn’t  eat  now.” 

“You’re  tired,  ma’am,  and  with  one  of  your  headaches,  I expect. 
Won’t  you  let  me  run  down  for  a glass  of  wine  and  a biscuit.  You  do 
look  so  pale,”  the  maid  urged.  She  was  really  attached  to  her  mistress, 
and  distressed  at  her  appearance. 

She  went  away  without  waiting  for  permission.  Koorali  drank  the 
wine,  and  ate  the  food  that  was  brought  her.  They  did  her  good  and 
revived  her  faculties.  She  let  Amelia  take  off  her  out-of-door  things, 
and  then  she  kissed  her  children  and  went  downstairs  again.  She  had 
a.  great  deal  to  think  of  and  to  settle.  She  could  think  better  now. 
The  drawing-room  was  just  as  she  had  left  it,  and  the  torn  notes  lay 
still  on  the  floor.  She  wondered  if  it  was  snowing  still.  She  went  to 
the  window,  and,  drawing  aside  the  curtain,  looked  out  into  the  night. 
Great  flakes  like  white  feathers  were  falling  thickly  and  noiselessly. 
The  ground  was  quite  white,  and  so  were  the  roofs  and  projections  of 
the  houses  opposite.  The  trees  in  a square  at  the  end  of  the  street 
looked  like  huge  branches  of  white  coral.  She  had  seen  such  coral 
growing  beneath  the  ocean  away  near  the  Great  Barrier  Feef.  How 
strange  it  was ! How  beautiful ! It  awed  her,  and  brought  the  tears 


286 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


rushing  to  her  eyes.  She,  who  was  born  in  an  almost  tropical  region, 
had  never  beheld  such  a scene.  The  strangeness,  whiteness,  and 
weirdness  or  it  seemed  in  keeping  with  the  crisis  in  her  own  life. 

The  sound  of  traffic  in  the  streets  was  muffled,  but  she  could  hear 
the  shrill  shouting  of  the  newspaper  boys,  and  gathered  word  by  word 
the  shrieked-out  announcement,  “Great  scene  in  the  House  of 
Commons ! Serious  charge  against  Mr.  Sandham  Morse.” 

She  turned  hastily  from  the  window,  and  leaned  against  the 
chimney-piece,  her  head  upon  her  hand,  till  long  after  the  cry  had 
died  away,  thinking — thinking.  She  was  indeed  perplexed  in  the 

extreme.  Yet  she  had  got  up  a sort  of  marble  composure.  Her 
purpose  was  fixed — was  adamant.  Nothing  on  earth  should  induce 
her  to  live  with  Crichton  Kenway  as  his  wife  any  more;  and  she 
would  not  give  up  her  boys.  She  was  not  thinking  of  giving  them 
up;  she  was  only  thinking  of  how  they  were  to  be  got  away.  It 
came  into  her  mind  that  Kenway  could  be  easily  induced  to  take 
what  he  had  himself  once  called,  “ a financial  view  of  the  situation ; ” 
and  that  he  could  be  bought  off ; that  he  would  let  her  take  her 
children  if  she  could  give  him  money  for  them.  But  to  whom  could 
she  turn?  She  had  no  money.  Her  cheeks  flamed  at  the  mere  idea 
of  turning  to  Morse.  Oh,  how  gladly  he  would  do  it,  she  knew,  if  she 
could  only  turn  to  him — and  she  could  not.  Any  man  on  earth 
rather  than  him — after  what  Crichton  had  said ; and  after  Crichton’s 
crime  against  him.  The  clock  struck  nine. 

She  heard  the  bell  at  the  street-door  ring.  Who  could  be  coming  at 
that  hour  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

u NO  WAY  BUT  THIS  1 ” 

“Mr.  Morse.” 

Koorkli  stood  motionless  with  the  shock  of  surprise.  He  of  all  men 
was  the  last  whom  she  could  have  expected  to  see.  She  looked  at  him 
with  a sort  of  terror  in  her  eyes.  Her  greeting  was  one  of  absolute 
silence.  Nor,  for  a moment,  did  he  speak.  The  door  closed  again. 
He  came  straight  to  where  she  stood,  but  he  did  not  hold  out  his 
hand. 

“ KoorMi ! ” He  had  never  called  her  by  her  name  since  the  day, 
too  well  remembered,  on  the  terrace  at  the  Priory-on-the- Water. 
“KoorMi,  are  you  shocked  at  my  coming  so  late?  I felt  that  I must 
come ; I have  news  to  tell  you.  But  stop ! I see  by  your  face  that 
you  have  news  to  tell  me ; I see  it  in  your  eyes,  and  in  these  tell-tale 
half-circles  round  them.  Something  bad  has  happened  to  you  too. 
Well,  I will  first  have  your  story,  and  then  you  shall  have  mine.  May 
I sit  down  ? ” 

He  drew  a chair  and  sat  down.  His  forced  composure,  his  manner 


“NO  WAY  BUT  THIS/” 


287 

of  assumed  levity,  were  ominous  and  terrible  to  her.  His  face  was 
kept  rigid  as  a mask ; but  his  eyes  spoke  of  some  grim  event  which  he 
was  compelling  himself  to  endure. 

“ Tell  me  first,”  Koor&li  said  tremulously. 

“ No;  I must  first  hear  what  you  have  to  tell  me.  Go  on.  Some- 
thing has  happened.  What  is  it?”  There  was  a touch  of  almost 
tragic  imperiousness  about  him  which  mastered  her.  It  was  bewilder- 
ing, tempting,  and  yet  inexpressibly  sweet  to  see  him  so  near,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and  something  in  them  which  had  never  been 
there  before.  “ Sit  down,”  he  said ; “ we  have  a great  deal  to  talk 
about — you  and  I.”  She  moved  from  where  she  had  been  standing  by 
the  mantel-piece,  and  sat  down  on  a low  sort  of  ottoman  in  front  of 
the  nearly  burnt  out  fire.  As  she  did  so,  her  dress  brushed  the  little 
sheaf  of  crisp  paper  on  the  carpet.  She  saw  his  eyes  attracted  to  it  by 
the  rustle,  and  stooping,  suddenly  gathered  up  the  torn  notes,  and  with 
a passionate  gesture  flung  them  upon  the  coals.  “ Those  are  bank- 
notes,” he  said,  still  in  that  abrupt  way.  “ Why  do  you  want  to  bum 
them  ? ” 

“ Because  they  are  the  price  ” — she  began  impetuously,  with 
heightening  colour,  and  then  stopped,  drawing  herself  together  with  a 
little  shiver,  while  a curtain  seemed  to  fall  over  her  flashing  eyes  and 
moved  features — “ because  my  husband  gave  them  to  me,”  she  said  in 
a tone  of  repressed  bitterness. 

At  that  instant  the  pieces  of  paper  flamed  up.  The  glow  striking 
her  face  or  the  momentary  change  in  its  expression  made  him  start 
forward  and  look  at  her  searchingly. 

“You  have  been  ill,”  he  exclaimed.  “ Oh,  how  altered  you  are ! ” 

He  had  not  seen  her,  except  upon  that  dusky  afternoon  in  the  Park, 
since  they  had  parted  so  conventionally  at  the  Priory-on-th e- Water. 
As  she  sat  there  in  her  black  dress,  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  form 
was  shrunken;  that  her  cheeks  were  more  wasted  than  he  had  fancied 
on  first  entering ; and  that  the  circles  round  her  eyes  were  larger  and 
hollo  wer. 

“Pve  not  been  ill,”  she  said,  in  a manner  of  the  deepest  dejection; 
and  then,  looking  up  at  him  with  a quick,  most  pathetic  glance,  she 
added,  “ Pve  only  been — unhappy.” 

He  made  a sound  like  a groan.  “Unhappy!  These  months!  I 
knew  it.  And  I couldn’t  do  anything.  No  matter  now.  Tell  me 
what  that  means,”  and  he  pointed  to  the  blackened  paper.  “ You  have 
quarrelled  with  your  husband  ? ” 

“We  have  quarrelled,”  Koorali  answered  quietly.  “He  is  sending 
me  away  from  him — for  ever.  I shall  never  live  with  him  again.” 

A melancholy  smile  passed  for  half  an  instant  across  Morse’s  face, 
and  then  was  gone.  He  was  thinking,  “Is  it  much  of  a banishment 
for  such  a woman  to  be  sent  from  such  a man?”  The  smile  gave 
place  to  a peculiar  expression.  He  bent  towards  her.  “Then, 
Koorali,”  he  said,  in  a strange,  low  voice,  “ you  are  free  to  go  where 
you  will.” 


288 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE} 


No  covert  meaning  in  his  words  struck  her. 

“ My  children,”  she  went  on  simply,  “ my  little  boys.  He  says  J 
must  not  take  them ; hut  I will  take  them.” 

“ Do  you  really  mean  that  your  husband  is  turning  you  out  of  Lia 
house  ? ” Morse  asked  fiercely. 

“ I do.  He  has  turned  me  out  of  his  house  ; he  has  told  me  that  1 
must  go ; that  I must  be  gone  before  he  returns ; that  he  will  not 
come  under  one  roof  with  me  ever  again.  See  ” — she  made  a gesture 
towards  the  fire — “ there  is  the  money  which  he  gave  me,  that  I might 
go  away.” 

“ Where  do  you  propose  to  go  to,  Koorali  ? ” Morse  leaned 
forward,  his  chin  buried  in  his  hands,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  he 
gazed  fixedly,  anxiously,  into  her  face. 

“ I am  going  back  to  my  father — in  South  Britain.  I have  nowhere 
else  to  go  to.  I must  go.  I will  find  a way.  I will  take  my  little 
boys — nothing  shall  prevent  me  from  doing  that — I will  do  that ! ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Morse,  “ wherever  you  go  your  children  shall  go  with 
you.” 

“Thank  you;  oh,  thank  you!”  Koorali  exclaimed 'fervently,  as  if 
he  had  given  her  some  great  gift.  He  had,  at  least,  approved  of  her 
resolve.  “ He  will  be  glad  in  the  end,”  she  said.  “He  is  going  out  to 
his  new  government,  and  he  will  feel  all  the  happier  for  being  free  from 
us.  He  has  never  cared  for  us.  He  only  said — what  he  did — about 
the  children  to  frighten  and  torture  me.” 

“ Tell  me — was  the  quarrel  very  serious  ? ” 

“ We  can  never  come  together  again — never,  never  ! It’s  all  ended  - 

I’d  rather  die  than  go  on.  I ” she  faltered  from  old  instinct  of 

reserve,  then  spoke  again  recklessly — “ I wanted  it  to  end.  I tried  for 
a long  time  to  bear  all  and  say  nothing ; but  there  came  a time  when 
I could  bear  no  more.  He  made  life  very  bitter  to  me.” 

“ I know  it.  I know  it,  Koorali.” 

“ To-night  there  was  said  what  can  never  be  forgotten  as  long  as  we 
two  live.  I am  going  away  to-morrow — I and  my  children.  I will 
hide  them  from  him  till  we  are  out  of  England,  and  then — then,  if  he 
wants  them,  he  must  drag  them  from  me.  He  won’t  do  that.  It 
would  not  be  worth  while.” 

There  was  silence  for  a moment.  Then  Morse  asked — 

“ Can  you  tell  what  it  was  about  ? ” 

She  only  shook  her  head,  and  again  there  was  a moment’s  silence, 
and  then  Morse  said — 

“ If  I can  guess,  will  you  tell  me  then ; will  you  say  ‘ yes  ’ or  ‘ no 9 ? 
Was  the  quarrel — about  me  ? ” 

Koorali  looked  at  him  in  a wild,  beseeching  way.  The  faint  flush 
which  had  come  over  her  face  was  quite  gone  now;  she  was  deadly 
pale.  The  steadfastness  of  his  gaze  seemed  to  compel  a truthful 
reply. 

“ Yes.”  She  spoke  in  a mere  whisper  the  one  word.  Then  she  roso 
and  went  to  the  chimney-piece,  and  took  up  one  of  the  cards  that  were 


“MO  WAY  BUT  THIS!"  289 

lying  there,  and  turned  it  over,  and  read  and  re-read  its  inscription,  all 
imconsious  of  what  she  was  doing. 

“ He  accused  you ” 

Without  looking  round,  without  putting  down  the  card  she  appeared 
to  be  studying,  Koorali  answered,  “ He  did.” 

“My  God!”  Morse  said,  with  a groan.  The  purest,  truest,  most 
loyal  woman  he  had  ever  known  ; and  she  had  to  bear  all  this  ! This 
was  her  reward ! 

“He  doesn’t  believe  it,”  Morse  exclaimed;  “he  knows  what  a liar 
and  slanderer  he  is ! ” 

“ He  does  not  believe  it,”  Koorali  said  simply.  “ Oh  no ; he  knows 
it  is  not  true.  He  only  wants  to  drive  me  from  him.  Do  not  think 
altogether  hardly  of  him,”  she  added,  impelled  by  an  instinct  of  justice. 
“ I angered  him.  I — I — lost  myself.” 

Morse  gave  a bitter  little  laugh.  “ There  is  something  more, 
Koorali,  I am  sure.  Something  that  I do  not  know,”  he  said  with 
sudden  energy. 

“ There  is,”  Koorali  answered.  Her  face  seemed  to  grow  still  paler. 

“ And  am  I not  to  know  it  ? ” 

“ No ; not  through  me.  Never,  I hope,  through  any  one.  It  would 
not  be  right  for  me  to  tell  you;  you  will  not  ask  me?”  She  turned 
round  to  him  now  with  beseeching  eyes. 

“ Still  I think  I ought  to  ask  you ” 

“ No,  no*  Oh,  pray  don’t  press  me.  I could  not  tell  you.  It  was 
something  told  to  me  which  I ought  never  to  tell  again,  it  did  not 

really  concern  me ; except  that No.  I must  be  silent.  You  will 

not  let  me  say  what  I should  hate  myself  for  saying?  ” 

Wronged  though  she  was,  Koorali  shrank,  as  from  something  dis- 
honourable, at  the  thought  of  letting  Morse  know  of  her  husband’s 
unparalleled  treachery  and  ingratitude  towards  him. 

“Well,”  Morse  said,  drawing  a deep  breath,  “if  it  does  not  concern 
you,  Koorali,  it  does  not  concern  me;  I shall  not  ask  you  any  more 
about  it.”  His  impression  was  that  Koorali  had  found  out  some 
wrong-doing  of  her  husband,  something  of  the  too-familiar  kind,  and 
that  she  thought  she  ought  not  to  tell  of  it,  and  he  felt  that  she  was 
right.  “ Come,  you  have  told  me  your  story.  Your  husband  has  left 
you.” 

“ He  has  told  me  I am  to  leave  him  for  ever.” 

“ Yes.  Now,  don’t  you  want  to  hear  my  story  ? ” He  got  up  as  he 
spoke,  and  stood  grim  and  Napoleonic  before  her. 

“ Yes,”  Koorali  said,  taking  new  fright  at  the  strange  expression  on 
his  face. 

“Well,  it  is  your  own  over  again — in  a different  way.  My  wife  has 
left  me.” 

“Oh  no!”  Koorali  exclaimed.  “Lady  Betty  left  you?  It  can’t 
be!” 

“ She  has  left  me,  Koorali ; she  has  gone  back  to  her  father’s  house. 
She  declares  she  will  never  come  under  my  roof  again — and  she  is  right 


290 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE” 


in  that ” lie  added  grimly.  “ She  believes  that  I was  really  the  leader 
of  a plot  to  stab  England  in  the  back  with  a foreign  dagger ; by 
assassins  hired  with  foreign  money.” 

Koorali  broke  into  a cry  of  horror  and  shame.  “ She  believes  that — 
of  you — your  own  wife?  She  says  so?  She  herself;  her  very  self?” 

“ She  has  written  it  down  here ; with  her  own  hand.  See — you  may 
I read  her  letter.  I found  it  waiting  to  welcome  me  when  I reached 
home — I mean  the  house  that  was  my  home.”  He  drew  out  a 
crumpled  sheet,  and  held  it  to  her.  She  did  not  move  her  hands  to 
take  it.  With  a bitter  laugh  he  tossed  it  into  the  fire.  “You  teach 
me  a lesson  in  loyalty,”  he  said.  “Well,  it’s  late  for  that  now. 
Yes ; ” he  broke  out  wildly,  “ she  believed  it ! And  Arden — the  young 
man  I never  much  liked,  and  he  didn’t  like  me,  1 know — he  didn’t 
believe  it  for  one  second ! He  came  out  of  his  way  this  evening  to 
speak  to  me  and  shake  hands  with  me  and  tell  me  I had  said  just  the 
right  thing!  And  his  father,  Lord  Forrest — that  cold,  stately  old 
man,  who  would  not  diverge  one  inch  from  the  most  scrupulous  prin- 
ciple to  save  the  empire — he  came  to  me,  and  held  out  his  hand  and 
he  told  me  I had  spoken  like  a man  of  honour  and  a gentleman — and 
that  means  so  much  with  him.  He  did.  He  was  hardly  ever  in  the 
House  of  Commons  before,  and  he  came  to  hear  me ; and  he  approved 
of  what  I had  said  and  done ; and  said  he  would  have  done  just  the 
same  himself!  And  you — well,  of  course,  I need  not  speak  of  you — 
you  couldn’t  believe  such  a tale  of  me.” 

He  had  moved  in  an  excited  way  while  he  had  been  speaking,  and 
now  he  stood  by  the  piano,  and  leaned  over  it  in  the  attitude  she 
remembered  so  well. 

“ Oh  no,”  she  said  quietly.  “ Ho  matter  who  believed  it,  I couldn’t 
believe  it;  I never  thought  about  it  at  all — except  that  you  were 
right  in  not  condescending  to  deny  it.  I was  almost  afraid  at  first 
that  you  were  going  to  give  it  a serious  denial ; but,  of  course,  I might 
have  known  that  you  would  do  just  what  was  right.”  She  remem- 
bered then  Lady  Betty’s  strange  looks  and  strange  words  as  they 
were  leaving  the  Ladies’  Gallery.  Her  heart  was  swelling  with  gener- 
ous anger. 

“Well,  I have  said  enough  about  that,”  Morse  declared;  and  he 
made  a gesture  with  his  hand,  as  if  he  were  waving  it  away  for  ever. 
He  left  the  piano  now,  and  went  over  to  the  chimney-piece  and  stood 
by  Kooraii.  “ I didn’t  quite  know  while  1 was  coming  here,  Koorkli, 
what  I was  coming  for.  I suppose  I followed  my  star,  as  you  said  that 
Australian  morning,  long  ago — don’t  you  remember  ? Yes ; I must 
have  been  following  my  star ! Now  it  shines  on  me  quite  clearly,  and 
it  shows  me  the  way.  When  I came  here  I did  not  know  that  you  were 
without  a husband,  as  I am  without  a wife.  Have  we  not  borne 
enough?  Have  we  not  kept  from  each  other  long  enough?  Koorkli, 
let  us  not  stand  apart  any  more.” 

His  manner  was  not  in  the  least  like  that  of  a wild  lover  in  a melo- 
drama. He  was  standing  composedly  on  the  hearthrug,  and  his  voica 


. “NO  WAY  BUT  THIS! 


291 

was  low-toned  and  quiet;  his  whole  bearing  that  of  restraint  and 
reserve.  She  looked  up  in  wonder  to  his  face.  Did  she  really  under- 
stand what  he  meant  ? 

“ Come  to  me,  Koorali,”  he  said ; “ the  fates  have  thrown  us  to- 
gether. Is  it  not  so  ? Let  us  go  together,  or  stay  together,  just  as 
you  like.  Your  children  shall  be  my  children  ; and  I will  try  to  make 
you  happy,  for  all  that  has  come  and  gone.” 

Koorali’s  eyes  were  downcast.  She  stood  very  still.  Only  the  little 
tremor  which  passed  over  her  frame  told  of  the  intensity  of  her  feeling. 

He  watched  her  with  breathless  anxiety.  “ It  is  to  be,”  he  said  in 
quick  incisive  tones.  “ You  and  I look  straight  into  the  soul  of  things. 
No  fine  talk — no  playing  with  the  conventional  scruples.  We’ve  been 
driven  out  of  all  that.  You  trust  me?  I needn’t  ask.  It’s  enough. 
Give  me  your  hand  on  it.” 

At  his  command  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  let  them  meet  his  full ; but 
she  held  her  hand  back.  Her  composure  was  marvellous.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  was  pressing  downweights  of  lead  on  her  soaring  heart. 
Had  it  been  only  a question  of  herself,  the  world  might  go.  She  knew 
her  weakness.  But  she  must  be  strong — for  her  children — for  him. 

“ My  friend,  why  have  you  said  this  ? I would  give  all  the  world, 
if  it  were  mine,  that  you  had  not  said  it.  I have  lost  you  now — I have 
lost  you  for  ever ! ” 

“ Folly ! ” Morse  said  impatiently.  “ Idle  folly.  We  only  take  what 
lies  at  our  feet.  Yesterday  I felt  as  you  do;  but  everything  has 
changed  to-day — for  both  of  us.  What  have  you  got  by  your  purity, 
and  I by  my  scruples?  Your  husband  accuses  you  of  crime,  and  turns 
you  out  of  house  and  home ; and  my  wife  deserts  me  in  the  hour  of 
battle ! She  leaves  it  for  you  to  fight  with  me.  Ah,  you  can  be  loyal ! 
Tell  me.  Did  I not  do  well  to  you  ? Did  I ever  say  what  I felt  about 
you  ? Did  I ever  speak  of  love  to  you  ? ” 

“Oh  no,  indeed;  you  never,  never  did.  You  acted  like  a true 
friend;  and  I — yes,  I adored  you  for  it.”  Koorali  let  herself  go  for  a 
moment,  and  spoke  out  her  heart  with  a passionate  energy. 

“ Well — and  what  did  we  get  by  that  ? Did  I not  encourage  you  to 
leave  London  ? Did  I not  do  all  I could  to  help  you  to  get  away — 
and  you  knew  how  I felt  to  you  all  the  time  ; yes,  and  I may  say  it 
now,  I knew  how  you  felt  to  me — Koorali  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Koorali,  still  with  passion  in  her  voice.  “It  is  all 
true.  I honoured  you  for  it ; I do  still.  I honour  you  now  for  your — 

for ” Her  voice  broke  altogether.  After  a moment  she  went  on, 

“ Some  day,  some  distant  day,  I shall  own  to  myself  all  that  I felt  to 
you.”  For  the  first  time,  while  they  were  speaking,  the  tears  came 
into  her  eyes.  “ Oh,  don’t  you  know  that  it  is  something  precious  to 
me — something  to  treasure  up  all  my  life,  to  make  me  feel  a better 
woman— -tne  thought  that  you  have  cared  for  me? ” 

“ An  exceeding  tenderness  came  into  his  face.  He  made  a move- 
ment towards  her,  but  her  very  trust  was  a barrier.  He  restrained 
himself. 


EQ2  “ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .” 

“ And  what  have  we  gained  by  that ; what  have  we  got  ? ” 
“Gained?  Got?  My  friend” — Koorali’s  melancholy  earnestness 
seemed  to  widen  the  distance  between  them — “we  have  saved  onr 
honour  and  our  conscience;  we  have  kept  the  whiteness  of  our  souls  ! 
You,  my  dearest  iriend,  you  who  think  it  nothing  to  throw  away  a 
great  career  for  a principle — you  ask  me  what  we  have  gained,  you 
and  T,  by  keeping  the  whiteness  of  our  souls  ?” 

“We  owe  something  to  ourselves,”  Morse  broke  in.  “This  has 
been  forced  upon  us  ; we  haven’t  sought  it.  Come,  Koorali,”  he  spoke 
to  her  very  gently  now,  “ there  is  a crisis  sometimes  in  people’s  lives 
which  can’t  be  disposed  of  by  reference  to  the  canons  of  any  casuistry. 
You  and  I love  each  other — yes,  we  may  say  that  now — we  are  suited 
to  each  other ; we  seem,  as  the  romancists  say,  made  for  each  other. 
1 think  that  even  on  that  Australian  morning  I had  seme  dim  percep- 
tion that  you  and  I were  somehow  destined  to  stand  side  by  side,  some 
time.  I wish  I had  never  lost  sight  of  you.  I am  my  true  self  only 
with  you.  Come.  We  need  each  other.  The  world  has  thrust  us 
both  outside  its  doors ; let  us  go  together.” 

“Go  where ?”  Koorali  asked.  “Is  there  any  place  where  I could 
forget  that  I had  brought  dishonour  on  my  boys ; or  where  you  could 
forget  that  you  had  brought  disgrace  on  your  name  and  your  career — 
where  I could  forget  that  I had  helped  you  to  do  it?  Oh,  do  take  pity 
on  me — you,  my  only  friend ; and  do  not  let  us  speak  of  this  any 
more  ! ” 

“ I do  take  pity  on  you,  and  so  I take  you  away  from  this  place 
where  you  are  insulted,  and  degraded,  and  miserable.” 

“Ah,”  she  pleaded  softly,  “ can  a woman  ever  be  really  degraded  but 
by  herself?  ” 

“ Let  us  go  to  America,”  Morse  said  ; “ a great  career  is  to  be  made 
there  by  any  one  who  has  brains  and  energy.  Koorali,  they  shall  hear 
our  names  in  Europe  again ! ” 

“ And  your  country,  Mr.  Morse  ? Your  people  ? ” 

“ My  country,’  he  said,  with  a scornful  and  bitter  laugh,  “ will  for 
aught  I know  echo  the  yells  of  the  House  of  Commons  ! My  people  ? 
I am  the  most  unpopular  man  in  England  now.” 

“It  is  only  the  madness  of  a moment,”  she  urged.  “Every  true 
heart  in  England  will  rally  to  you ; you  will  stand  higher  than  ever. 
This  will  be  forgotten.” 

“ It  will  not  be  forgotten  by  me.” 

“ Yes,  yes  ; you  will  see  that  the  country,  the  English  people,  have 
never  for  a moment  lost  faith  in  you.  Why,  even  in  that  House  of 

Commons,  those  whose  opinion  you  cared  for  were  with  you ” 

Koorali  stopped  in  sudden  embarrassment.  Morse  saw  what  had  made 
her  feel  embarrassed. 

“ And  my  wife  ? ” he  asked.  “ What  about  her  opinion  ? ” 

“ Oh,  that  was  some  sudden,  extraordinary  misconception  ; I know 
it  was.  Already,  perhaps,  Lady  Betty  understands.  One  must 
remember  how  she  has  been  brought  up ; and  how  devoted  she  is  to 


“NO  WAY  BUT  .THIS /”  293 

the  Princess  and  the  Court.  Oh,  believe  me,  that  wound  will  be 
healed.  You  and  Lady  Betty  will  be  Mends  again/’ 

Morse  shook  his  head.  “Yon  do  not  know  what  it  is  for  a man 
like  me  to  have  it  blazoned  all  over  town  to-morrow  morning  that  his 
aristocratic  wife  has  left  him  for  ever,  because  she  believes  him  to 
have  been  an  associate  in  an  infamous  plot.  Only  one  thing  on  earth, 
Koorali,  can  make  life  a good  thing  to  me;  and  that  is  your  com- 
panionship. Come  with  me.  Come ! Let  us  give  up  all  this  noisy, 
empty  world  of  politics,  if  you  like.  Let  us  live  in  some  quiet  place 
and  dream.” 

“ A dream,  indeed  ! ” said  Koorali  sadly. 

“ Let  us  watch  the  sunsets.  Let  us  live  in  peace  and  honour — yes, 
honour;  I repeat  it.  Let  us  be  everything  to  each  other.  I know 
now  what  you  are  worth  to  me,  and  what  the  world  is  worth  to  both 
of  us ; and  I shall  make  myself  worth  something  to  you.  You  shall 
never  be  sorry  for  trusting  yourself  to  me.” 

“ I know  it ; in  that  sense — oh,  I know  it,”  she  said.  She  clasped 
her  hands  on  the  mantel-board  before  her  and  leaned  her  head  upon 
them.  At  that  moment  the  dreariness  of  the  struggle  came  upon  her 
with  deeper  and  sadder  meaning.  For  an  instant  she  allowed  herself 
to  drift  towards  the  dreamland  he  pictured.  But  in  a moment  she 
was  facing  him  again,  mournfully  resolute.  “I  know  that  all  that 
kindness  and  gentleness  and  chivalrous  affection  could  do  for  woman 
would  be  done  by  you  for  me — to  the  end,”  she  went  on,  “ to  the  very 
end,  wherever  and  whatever  that  might  be.  But  you  could  not  turn 
wrong  into  right  or  shame  into  honour.  Soon  you  would  be  sorry  on 
my  account,  and  I should  be  sorry  on  yours.  We  should  end  by 
making  each  other  unhappy,  just  because  we  are  not  bad  enough  to  do 
wrong  and  feel  no  remorse.  See  what  it  has  come  to  already,”  she 
added  plaintively  ; “ I can’t  even  ask  your  advice  in  my  sad  strait.” 

“I  am  selfish  in  this — 1 know  it,”  Morse  said;  “but  who  could  help 
it  ? Who  would  not  pity  you  and  love  you  that  had  seen  you  as  I 
have  seen  you  ? I never  said  so  while  you  had  a husband.  Now  that 
you  have  none,  Koorali,  I will  save  you  from  yourself ; I will  prevail 
upon  you  ; I will  make  you  go  with  me.” 

His  manner  was  entirely  respectful ; he  did  not  stand  close  to  her ; 
he  did  not  even  take  her  hand.  But  there  was  a strength  of  emotion 
in  his  looks  which  frightened  her,  and  although  his  voice  was  calm,  his 
eyes  and  his  words  were  wild.  Koorali  found  the  truth  forced  in  upon 
her  that  in  that  crisis  she  could  not  rely  on  his  man’s  strength  for  a 
support ; that  she  must  think  and  act  for  both ; that  she  alone  must 
save  herself  and  him. 

“ At  least,”  she  said,  “ you  will  not  press  me  now  ; this  moment  ? 
You  will  not  ask  me  to  decide  to-night  ? Oh,  you  do  not  know  how 
serious  this  is  for  a woman  with  children — with  sons  who  will  one  day 
grow  up  and  know  all  about  their  mother.  You  will  give  me  to-night 
to  think  ? Ah,  indeed — ndecd,  if  I hesitate  it  is  not  because  of  any 
want  of  trust  in  you.  But  you  will  not  press  me — no;  not  to-night, 


294 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


my  only  friend ?”  She  now  showed  her  trust  in  him  so  far  that  she 
put  her  hand  tenderly  into  his  for  a moment.  He  raised  it,  touched  it 
softly  with  his  lips,  and  let  it  drop  again. 

“ I will  come  to-morrow.  When?  ” was  all  he  said. 

“I  will  write  to  you,”  Koontli  answered.  “Do  not  try  to  see  me 
till  you  have  my  letter.” 

They  parted  without  another  word.  Her  eyes  followed  him  as  he 
moved  to  the  door.  It  was  well  that  he  did  not  see  the  anguish  in 
them.  It  was  well  that  he  did  not  hear  the  low  cry  which  broke  from 
her  when  the  door  shut  behind  him,  and  she  was  left  alone. 

She  heard  him  go  downstairs.  She  heard  his  step  in  the  hall  below. 
He  trod  firmly  and  lightly,  she  thought;  there  seemed  to  be  even 
something  of  elasticity  and  elation  in  the  tread.  Perhaps  she  had 
made  him  hopeful  for  the  moment ; perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  a new 
life  to  be  begun  by  him  and  her  together.  She  heard  the  door  open 
and  then  close.  It  closed,  not  with  a clang,  but  gently,  as  if  in  that 
very  moment  he  were  tender  of  her  nerves  and  her  feelings. 

At  the  sound  she  Hew  to  the  window,  and,  drawing  aside  the  curtain, 
slipped  out  on  to  the  little  balcony.  She  watched  him  as  he  walked 
down  the  street,  silently,  like  a ghost.  The  snow  had  ceased  falling 
now,  but  everything  was  covered  as  with  a sheet.  The  lamps  cast  a 
bluish  light  upon  the  pavement.  She  watched  him  disappear  in  the 
shadow  of  a church  at  the  corner  of  the  square.  It  was  a saint’s  day ; 
there  was  service  going  on  within,  and  the  sound  of  the  organ  came  to 
her  and  seemed  to  solemnize  the  decision  she  had  made.  The  devo- 
tional strains  and  the  tall  dark  building,  with  its  snow-flecked  spire 
and  all  its  Gothic  arches  and  projections  traced  in  dazzling  white,  gave 
her  a feeling  of  stay  and  anchorage.  At  best  or  at  worst,  how  short 
and  poor  was  life  ! how  great  God’s  goodness  ! how  vast  the  Infinite  ! 

She  went  back  again  and  closed  the  window.  The  air  felt  very  cold. 
It  had  made  her  shiver.  She  sat  down  miserably  on  the  sofa,  and  then 
hid  her  face  in  the  pillows  and  broke  into  unrestrained  tears ; for  she 
knew  that  she  was  not  to  see  him  any  more. 

When  she  had  for  the  moment  no  more  tears  to  shed,  she  crept 
upstairs  to  the  room  where  her  boys  were  sleeping,  and  she  knelt 
beside  them  and  prayed.  Her  mind  was  made  up;  she  knew  what 
she  had  to  do.  Not  for  one  instant  did  she  doubt  as  to  the  path  she 
was  to  tread.  She  was  to  save  him , and  her  bo)^s,  and  herself.  But 
she  prayed  for  guidance  as  to  the  manner  in  which  this  was  to  be 
done,  and  for  strength  to  bear  up  and  to  do  it.  Truly,  if  one  but 
sincerely  wishes  to  walk  the  right  way,  “light  ariseth  in  the  dark- 
ness ” and  the  path  is  seen. 


KOORALPS  LETTER. 


295 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
koorAli’s  letter. 

Crichton  did  not  come  home  that  night.  He  did  not  come  home  the 
next  morning.  Almost  the  first  news  that  Kooikli  heard  on  waking 
was  that  one  of  the  servants  had  received  a message  from  him  ordering 
that  his  letters  should  be  sent  to  the  Grey  Manor. 

Koorali  slept  late,  and  started  up  'with  a sense  of  guilt  and  dread  in 
the  bright  light  of  a frosty  morning.  There  was  so  much  to  do.  She 
could  not  see  her  way  in  front  of  her.  She  must  go  away  that  very 
day — before  Morse  could  come  to  her.  She  must  steal  her  children, 
and  hide  herself  and  them  before  there  was  time  for  her  purpose  to 
dawn  upon  Crichton’s  mind.  But  how?  Where?  She  had  no  money. 
She  had  no  friends — none  at  least  to  whom  she  could  apply  in  such 
emergency.  In  her  bewilderment  she  could  only  think  of  Zen.  She 
would  have  died  rather  than  be  indebted  to  one  of  the  family  ; but 
Zen,  somehow,  was  not  one  of  the  family — honest,  impulsive  Zen,  who, 
on  her  own  part,  had  some  experience  of  suffering.  Koorali  resolved  to 
seek  assistance  from  Zen.  But,  again,  how  ? Of  Zen’s  generosity  and 
loyalty  she  felt  assured ; but  how  could  her  plans  be  kept  secret  from 
Eustace,  and  would  not  that  involve  their  betrayal  to  Crichton  ? How 
could  she  write  or  telegraph  to  Zen  without  the  risk  of  endangering 
her  own  and  her  children’s  liberty  ? 

Two  letters  were  brought  to  her.  The  handwriting  of  one  seemed 
familiar  and  yet  strange.  She  opened  the  other,  of  which  she  knew 
the  superscription  too  well — too  well. 

“ I will  come  for  you,  KoorMi,  to-morrow  at  five  o’clock. 
We  will  take  the  boys  with  us.  I think  of  going  to  Dover  by  an 
ordinary  train.  We  shall  leave  England  at  once,  either  for  Calais  or 
Ostend.  Where  to  go  next  I have  not  thought ; but  we  can  settle 
that  after.  For  the  present  it  is  best  to  have  no  plans.  Trust  your- 
self  and  your  boys  and  your  future  to  me,  as  I trust  all  to  you. 

“ For  ever  yours, 

“S.  M.” 

She  kissed  the  letter  tenderly  and  put  it  in  her  bosom.  “ I may  do 
that?  she  said.  With  it  pressed  thus  to  her  heart  she  could  have 
dreamed  herstlf  into  Paradise.  But  there  must  be  no  dreams. 

She  dressed  in  a mechanical  way,  and  as  mechanically  submitted  to 
her  maid’s  last  touches.  Amelia’s  curiosity  was  rampant  when  her 
mistress  said,  “I  am  going  to  take  the  children  away  for  a while. 
Have  their  clothes  packed  as  soon  as  possible.” 

“ Shall  you  take  me,  ma’am?”  asked  the  maid. 

“I  don’t  know.  No,”  answered  Koorali  absently. 

“And  your  own  things,  ma’am?”  pursued  Amelia.  “Will  there  be 
any  evening  dresses  required  ? ” 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE } 


296 

Koorkli  gave  her  directions  calmly  and  minutely.  Oh,  the  mockery 
of  such  details!  It  was  not  till  she  was  alone  again  that  she  recol- 
lected the  other  letter  she  had  received.  As  she  looked  at  it  once 
more,  it  flashed  across  her  that  the  writing  was  Lord  Arden’s;  and 
then  she  remembered,  with  the  sudden  sense  of  a saving  hand  stretched 
out  to  her  in  her  need,  their  conversation  at  the  Priory-on-the- Water, 
and  the  promise  she  had  made  him.  She  hastily  opened  the  letter. 
It  ran — 


“ Forrest  House,  Tuesday,  Midnight. 

“Dear  Mrs.  Kenway, 

“I  was  in  the  House  this  afternoon,  and  I saw  you  and  tried 
to  get  at  you  as  you  were  leaving  the  Ladies’  Gallery,  but  there  was 
a crush,  and  I lost  you.  I want  very  much  to  speak  to  you,  though 
I know,  of  course,  what  your  opinion  is  of  the  infamous  charge  every 
one  is  talking  about.  You  must  feel  as  keenly  as  I do  the  fact  that 
Lady  Betty  Morse  has  forsaken  her  husband  in  his  trouble.  It  must 
not  be.  We,  who  are  friends  of  both,  must  not  let  it  be.  I fear  that 
Morse,  in  a moment  of  disgust,  may  throw  up  his  political  career. 
We  know  that  in  a little  while — a few  days,  perhaps — the  country 
will  do  him  justice;  England  cannot  spare  such  a man;  he  must  be 
saved  to  her. 

“May  I come  to  you  about  midday  to-morrow?  If  I get  no 
telegram  to  the  contrary,  I shall  be  at  your  house,  and,  as  always,  at 
your  full  service. 

“I  am,  your  faithful  friend, 

“ Arden.” 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  Arden’s  letter  which  brought 
the  blood  rushing  to  Koorali’s  cheeks.  Had  he  seen  Morse  ? Did  he 
guess  the  truth  ? Why  did  he  take  it  for  granted  that  she  knew  of 
Lady  Betty’s  departure?  Why  did  he  call  upon  her  to  mediate 
between  husband  and  wife  ? Why  did  he  appeal  to  her  to  save  to  the 
people  the  statesman  who  could  lead  them  to  honour?  The  very  way 
in  which  he  subscribed  himself  suggested  that  he  fancied  the  time  had 
come  in  which  she  might  redeem  her  promise,  and  in  which  he  might 
be  able  to  help  her. 

These  questions  revolved  in  her  mind  while  she  went  over  her 
papers,  and,  as  methodically  as  she  could,  made  preparations  for  her 
departure.  She  did  not  telegraph  to  Arden.  Of  course  she  would  see 
him.  She  could  not  help  looking  to  him  in  some  sort  of  undefined 
way  for  aid  in  this  emergency.  She  did  not  know  how  he  could  help 
her,  unless  in  seeking  out  Zen — this  was  the  one  plan  which  took 
shape  in  her  thoughts.  She  did  not  even  know  what  she  should  say 
to  him.  She  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  tell  him  in  plain  wordk 
that  she  had  quarrelled  hopelessly  with  her  husband  and  that  she 
meant  to  steal  away  her  children;  but  it  seemed  to  her,  looking  back 
now,  that  he  had  all  along  been  destined  to  come  to  her  assistance. 


KOORALfS  LETTER. 


297 


It  seemed  to  her,  as  she  pondered  in  a confused  way,  mixing  up 
present  and  past,  that  when  they  had  talked  together  at  the  Priory  and 
he  had  asked  if  he  might  be  her  friend,  she  had  foreseen  this  trouble, 
then  dim  and  shapeless  in  the  future,  and  for  that  very  reason  had 
hesitated  to  take  him  at  his  word.  She  had  felt,  then,  that  she  could 
not  lightly  give  a promise  which  some  day  might  mean  a great  deal. 

At  a little  after  twelve  Arden  came.  He  was  shown  into  the  front 
drawing-room.  She  was  in  the  back  room,  with  the  door  between 
closed.  Presently  she  came  in  to  him.  As  she  pushed  aside  the 
portiere , and  advanced,  a little  wasted  figure'  in  a black  dress,  with 
pale  and  resolute  face  and  deep  sad  eyes,  all  his  previous  suspicions 
were  confirmed,  and  he  saw  that  something  momentous  had  happened 
to  her. 

She  shook  hands  with  him,  but  did  not  sit  down.  The  room  seemed 
cold  and  cheerless,  and  the  fire  was  unlighted.  Arden  looked  a little 
awkward  and  embarrassed,  and  his  eyes  met  hers  searchingly. 

“ Mrs.  Ken  way,”  he  said,  without  any  conventional  preface,  u I wish 
that  I could  have  seen  you  last  night.” 

A rush  of  colour  overspread  her  face ; but  she  did  not  answer. 

“ I have  a great  deal  to  say  to  you 99  he  began. 

She  moved  to  the  door  through  which  she  had  entered.  “ Come  in 
here,”  she  said.  “ There’s  a fire.  It’s  cold  in  this  room.” 

He  followed  her,  and  threw  a swift  comprehensive  glance  round.  A 
look  of  apprehension  came  over  his  face.  The  place  was  all  a litter 
of  papers — packets  tied  up  and  documents  of  different  kinds.  The 
drawers  of  the  writing-table  stood  open  and  were  in  confusion,  and 
shreds  of  torn  letters  over-filled  and  lay  round  the  waste-paper  basket. 
Koorali  moved  some  books  from  a chair  and  motioned  to  it. 

He  did  not  seat  himself.  As  she  stood  by  the  mantel-piece  he  made 
an  abrupt  movement  towards  her,  as  if  he  would  have  entreated  or 
implored  her  to  desist  from  some  course  to  which  he  guessed.  But  he 
restrained  himself. 

“ Mrs.  Ken  way,”  he  exclaimed,  “ what  does  it  mean  ? You  are 
making  preparations  for  a journey  at  once  ? ” 

“ I am  going  away,”  she  answered  quietly. 

Arden  gazed  at  her  in  pain  and  bewilderment.  “ What  does  it  all 
mean?”  he  repeated,  and  gave  a strange  little  laugh.  “Every  one 
is  going  away.  Lady  Betty  has  left  her  husband.  I met  Morse  last 

night.  He,  too,  said  that  he  was  going  away.  And  you ” He 

advanced  a step,  and  his  eyes  rested  full  upon  her  with  such  anxious 
questioning  in  them  that  her  own  drooped.  “ You  haven’t  got  any 
rash  project  in  your  mind?  I know  that  you  and  your  husband 
intended  to  leave  England  in  a few  weeks.  It’s  only  that  something 
has  occurred  to  hasten  your  voyage  to  Farnesia,  and  you  are  getting 
ready.  That  is  all  ? ” 

“ No,”  she  replied,  still  composedly.  “ It  isn’t  that,  Lord  Arden. 
I’m  not  going  to  Farnesia  with  my  husband.  We  are  going  to 
Australia — my  boys  and  I.” 

20 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE } 


298 

There  was  still  alarm  and  perplexity  on  Arden’s  face.  te  And 
Morse  ? ” he  asked  involuntarily.  “ Where  is  Morse  going  ? ” Then, 
a moment  later,  he  hated  himself  for  having  said  the  words  and  for 
the  implication  they  conveyed.  Koorali  became  as  pale  as  death. 
•She  knew  that  Arden  had  discovered  her  secret.  She  understood  now 
his  letter — his  strange  manner.  For  a moment  he  thought  she  was 
going  to  faint.  The  emotion  she  showed  deepened  his  almost  frenzied 
anxiety.  He  dreaded  the  worst.  And  yet  something  told  him  that, 
at  whatever  cost,  she  would  be  true  to  her  womanhood.  It  was  a 
relief  when  she  raised  her  head  with  a quick  proud  gesture  that  he 
knew.  Her  face  was  less  ashen  now;  but  the  strained  look  about  her 
mouth  told  him  how  hard  it  was  for  her  to  keep  the  muscles  in  check, 
and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  tears  as  she  turned  them  to  his  and 
then  averted  them. 

“ I don’t  know  where  Mr.  Morse  is  going,”  she  said,  bringing  out  her 
words  with  difficulty.  “ I hope — I believe  that  he  will  stay  in  England, 
and  show  the  people  that  he  is  not  to  be  crushed  by  calumny.  It 
would  seem  cowardly  in  him  to  go  away.  It  would  be  wrong ; and 
if  he  can  get  to  feel  that,  he  will  never  do  what  is  wrong.  Oh,  Lord 
Arden,  his  friends  ought  to  urge  this  upon  him!”  Her  voice  faltered. 
“ They  ought  to  point  out  to  him  what  madness  it  would  be  to  throw 
away  his  career  in  a moment  of  anger  and  disgust.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  Arden.  “ He  is  a statesman,  with  a duty  to 
his  country.  Whatever  his  theories  may  be — and  they  are  not  mine 
— he  is  a far-seeing,  noble-minded  man,  and  he  has  England’s  greatness 
at  heart.  I did  not  do  him  justice  before  the  test  of  the  elections 
came.  I believed  him  to  be  merely  an  ambitious  politician  eager  for 
power.  I do  him  better  justice  now.” 

Koorali’s  eyes  glistened.  “ You  will  tell  him  this,”  she  said,  and 
raised  her  hands  in  a gesture  of  appeal.  “The  storm  will  blow  over. 
In  a little  while  he  may  be  contented  again — it  will  take  a little 
while.”  She  seemed  to  be  speaking  less  to  her  companion  than  in 
argument  with  herself.  “ His  career,  his  ambition,  his  cause,  will  fill 
his  life  and  make  up  to  him  for  everything.  And  his  wife  will  go 
back  to  him.  He  mustn’t  be  hard  on  her.  Oh,  Lord  Arden,  you  will 
speak  to  him.  You  will  tell  him  all  this ! ” 

There  was  genuine  pity  in  Lord  Arden’s  face.  “ And  you  yourself, 
Mrs.  Kenway  ? You,  too,  will  speak  to  him  ? ” 

“ No,”  she  answered,  with  a strange  solemnity  in  her  tone ; “ I shall 
not  see  him  again.” 

She  turned  her  head,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  leaned 
her  forehead  against  the  mantel-piece.  The  strain  was  relaxed  at  last. 
IIo  saw  that  her  frame  shook  with  suppressed  sobs.  His  heart  ached 
in  compassion  for  her,  and  yet  he  could  not  by  word  or  gesture  attempt 
to  comfort  her. 

He  moved  away,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  her,  looking  fixedly  at 
the  stained-glass  window  above  her  writing-table.  For  years  and 
years  Arden  remembered  the  particular  colouring  and  design  of  that 


KO  ORA  LI'S  LETTER. 


299 


window,  and  lie  associated  it  always  with  one  of  the  most  sorrowful 
moments  he  had  ever  known.  Presently  the  convulsive  sounds  ceased, 
and  he  knew  she  was  calm  again.  When  he  went  to  her  once  more 
she  had  raised  her  face.  It  was  wan  and  piteous,  but  except  for  a 
slight  trembling  she  gave  no  sign  of  agitation. 

“I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for  breaking  down,”  she  said,  with  a 
pathetic  smile.  “But  I’ve  had  a great  deal  to  try  me  the  last  two 
days.  I didn’t  sleep  much  last  night;  and  I think  I’m  worn 
out.” 

He  took  her  hand  as  if  she  had  been  a child,  and  placed  her  in  a big 
arm-chair  close  to  the  fire,  seating  himself  near  her. 

“ I don’t  wonder  that  you  are  worn  out,”  he  said.  “ You  are  ill. 
You  have  looked  ill  for  a long  time ; and  yesterday  upset  you.  It 
upset  every  one.  We  won’t  talk  of  Morse  now,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  but 
about  you.  You  may  depend  upon  me  to  do  my  best — my  very  best 
— to  bring  his  wife  back  to  him,  and  to  keep  him  true  to  his  country 
and  to  his  real  self.  That  is  what  you  and  I — what  all  his  real  friends 
must  wish.  I think  that  I can  understand  your  feeling.”  He  waited 
for  a few  moments,  not  looking  at  her. 

Koorali  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  wearily  closed  her  eyes.  His 
words  brought  a sense  of  relief,  but  one  of  pain  and  strangeness  too. 
It  was  as  though  she  saw  everything  slipping  away  from  her. 

Arden  went  on.  “ I want  to  know  about  yourself.  I am  sure  that 
you  are  in  trouble-trouble  of  some  definite  kind  that  perhaps  I can 
help  you  in.  Mrs.  Kenway,  don’t  you  remember  our  talk  at  the 
Priory,  and  your  promise  that  if  you  ever  needed  a friend’s  help  you’d 
let  me  give  it  ? You  said  then  that  the  time  wasn’t  likely  to  come ; 
but  I felt  somehow  that  it  would.  And,  though  I’m  sorry  to  find  my 
presentiment  verified,  still  I am  glad  to  be  here  now.  1 asked  you  to 
let  me  call  this  morning  because  I had  a kind  of  instinct  that  you 
wanted  somebody.  Will  you  trust  me?” 

Koorali  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  him  earnestly,  her  arms  clasp- 
ing her  knees  in  that  childlike  attitude  of  hers. 

“I  will;  I will,  indeed!”  she  said  brokenly.  “I  think  you  can 
help  me.  I am  in  great  trouble,  and  I have  no  relations  and  no  friends 
— except  Zen.  I can’t  write  to  Zen  because  of  Eustace.  I dare  not 
run  any  risk  of  my  husband  finding  out  where  I have  taken  my  boys, 
till  we  have  gone  quite  away.  He  would  try  to  get  them  from  me. 
But  you  will  go  to  Zen,  Lord  Arden,  and  tell  her ; and  she  will  come 
to  me.  I can  trust  Zen.  I know  she  will  gladly  help  me;  and  she  is 
the  only  person  I could  take  help  from — of  that  kind.” 

Lord  Arden  understood  her  meaning.  He  dreaded  to  say  a word 
which  could  wound  her  sensitive  pride.  “ I am  certain  you  may  rely 
on  Mrs.  Eustace’s  good  heart,”  he  said  warmly.  “I  will  gladly  go  to 
her  and  explain  everything.  But,  Mrs.  Kenway,  I don’t  know  yet 
what  has  happened.  I can  only  guess.”  He  hesitated  a little,  then 
he  saw  the  faint  colour  rising  to  her  cheeks,  and  went  on  hurriedly, 
“ You  have  not  been  happy  with  your  husband.  There  has  been  a 


3 co  “THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE* 

disagreement ; and  you  want  to  go  back  to  your  own  people  and  taka 
your  children.” 

“Yes,”  she  answered  simply.  “I’m  going  away.  My  marriage 
has  been  a terrible  mistake.  It’s  all  ended  now.  We  have  both 
agreed  that  it  is  best  so.  We  can  never  come  together  again — 
never ! ” 

“But,”  he  said,  hesitating  again,  “if  you  have  agreed,  there  might 
be  some  settlement — some  arrangement.  And  the  children  ? ” 

“Oh,”  she  cried  passionately,  “don’t  you  see?  We  can’t  live 
together  again — he  does  not  wish  it.  But  he  wants  to  punish  me  by 
separating  me  from  my  children.” 

“Is  there  no  alternative?”  he  urged.  “ Your  friends — your  family 
might  mediate.” 

She  shook  her  head.  “ It’s  no  use.  I’ve  thought  it  all  out.  There’s 
nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  go  back  to  Australia.  I must  leave  this 
house  at  once — this  very  day.  I must  hide  myself  somewhere  till  the 
steamer  starts.  He  doesn’t  think  that  I will  take  the  bo^  s,  because 
I have  no  money.  But  Zen  will  give  me  some,  and  I shall  be  free.” 
The  yearning  of  an  imprisoned  soul  was  in  Koorali’s  tone.  Arden 
was  inexpressibly  touched.  “ I can’t  give  up  my  children,”  she  went 
on,  with  gathering  agitation.  “ No  one  could  have  the  heart  to  tell 
me  that  it  would  be  right.  No  one  could  tell  me  that  I must  go  on 
suffering — go  on  living  a life  of  degradation.  I have  borne  so  much ; 
I can  bear  no  more.”  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  a 
moment,  then  looked  at  him  again.  “ I am  not  altogether  selfish,” 
she  added  more  quietly.  “ It  is  for  their  sake  as  well  .as  for  my  own. 
I should  deserve  punishment  if  I allowed  my  boys  to  grow  up  into 
men  like  their  father.” 

Her  lips  tightened  resolutely.  Her  face  had  lost  its  expression  of 
pathos  and  helplessness.  It  was  hard  and  cold ; the  face  of  a woman 
who  has  endured  the  utmost  possible  to  her  and  will  bend  no  more. 
He  saw  that  she  had  taken  the  law  into  her  own  hands,  and  that 
whatever  her  case  might  be  she  would  admit  no  argument  upon  it 
It  was  his  assumption  that  she  was  justified  in  the  course  she  meant 
to  take.  He  had  no  good  opinion  of  Crichton  Kenway,  whose 
character,  he  had  learned  by  one  of  those  accidents  which  reveal 
something  of  a man’s  private  life,  did  not  bear  scrutiny.  He  had 
watched  Koorali  in  her  relations  with  her  husband,  and  had  admired 
her  loyalty  and  her  patience.  He  knew  that  only  strong  provocation 
could  have  forced  from  her  the  words  she  had  just  uttered.  He  felt 
that  he  had  no  right  to  ask  any  questions.  There  was  a short  silence. 
Koorali  broke  it. 

“I  see  that  you  doubt  whether  I am  acting  wisely,”  she  said  quietly 
“ You  do  not  know  everything ; and  I cannot  tell  you.  I can  never 
tell  any  one.  If  you  knew,  you  would  see  that  there  is  no  other  life  I 
can  lead.  I am  not  grasping  happiness  at  the  cost  of  duty.  There 
can  be  no  happiness  for  me  in  this  world  except  what  comes  through 
my  children.  I have  a right  to  take  them  till  they  are  old  enough  to 


KOORALPS  LETTER. 


301 


be  brought  up  at  school.  Then,  perhaps,  something  may  he  arranged ; 
hut  not  now.  I don’t  claim  more  than  my  right.  I don’t  forget  what 
they  owe  to  their  father,  or  what  I owe  to  my  husband.” 

She  spoke  rapidly,  with  undertoned  decision,  and  her  eyes  met  his 
fixedly.  He  seemed  lost  in  thought.  Suddenly  he  got  up  and  stood 
over  her. 

“ How  soon  do  you  want  to  leave  this  house  ? 99  he  asked. 

“ To-day ! to-day ! As  soon  as  ever  I can.  I must  get  out  of  this 
place  before  many  hours  ; before  an  hour,  if  I can.” 

“ But,  tell  me  ; why  are  you  in  such  haste  ? Can’t  you  wait  even 
until  to-morrow  ? ” 

“ Oh,  to-morrow,  to-morrow ! ” she  exclaimed  passionately  ; “ there 
is  no  to-morrow  for  me — I must  go  at  once.  Now,  now,  now ! ” 

“ Are  you  afraid,”  he  asked,  “ that  your  husband  will  come  back  and 
do  you  some  harm  ? ” 

“ No,  no ; he  will  not  come.  I was  not  thinking  of  him.  Oh ! ” 
A cry  broke  from  her,  a cry  of  alarm  lest  she  should  have  betrayed  her 
secret.  She  had  betrayed  it.  Arden  knew  now  why  she  was  eager  to 
go  at  once.  He,  too,  felt  that  she  must  go ; that  she  must  not  stay 
one  hour  longer  in  that  house. 

“ If  you  knew  all,”  she  cried  impatiently,  “ you  would  know  that  I 
am  doing  right,  and  that  there  is  nothing  else  for  me  to  do.” 

“ I am  sure  you  are  doing  right,”  Arden  said;  “ I am  sure  there  is 
nothing  else  for  you  to  do,  since  you  tell  me  so.” 

“ Oh,  thank  you,  ever  so  much ! 99  She  could  have  kissed  his  hand 
in  the  fervour  of  her  gratefulness  to  him  for  his  belief  in  her.  So 
narrow  is  the  horizon  of  humanity’s  mood  of  joy  or  sorrow,  that  the 
rush  of  a sensation  almost  like  delight  filled  and  flooded  her  soul  at  the 
mere  thought  that  in  that  hour  of  trial  she  was  not  utterly  alone ; that 
the  sympathy  and  the  trust  of  one  generous  heart  sustained  her. 

“ I understand  enough,”  Arden  said.  “ There’s  no  need  for  me  to 
tell  you  that  I feel  for  you  deeply.  I was  not  thinking  of  whether  you 
are  right  or  wrong.  I take  your  word.  I’m  only  concerned  as  to  how 
I can  best  help  you,  and  a plan  has  occurred  to  me.  You  are  right; 
you  must  leave  at  once.  Have  you  any  idea  when  the  Australian 
steamer  starts  ? ” 

“ Yes.  Next  Tuesday,  I think — the  22nd.  I thought,”  she  added, 
after  a moment’s  pause,  “ that  I could  find  some  lodging  where  no  one 
would  think  of  looking  for  me.” 

“ Oh  no,”  he  exclaimed,  “ that  wouldn’t  do.  You  must  not  hide 
yourself  in  that  sort  of  way.  There  must  be  no  suggestion  that  you 
are  leaving  England  under  a cloud.  Don’t  you  see,”  he  went  on  with 
gentlo  imperiousness,  for  she  had  looked  up  at  him  in  a pained,  won- 
dering way,  “ that  you  are  a woman  who  has  attracted  a great  deal  of 
attention,  Mrs.  Kenway,  and  society  won’t  be  content  to  let  you  slip 
out  of  its  sight  unnoticed  ? It  is  very  important  that  people  should 
not  be  allowed  a chance  of  saying  ill-natured  things.” 

“Yes — I know,”  she  said;  “but  I can’t  help  it,  and  I mustn’t 


"THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE .’ 


302 

mind.  I am  leaving  my  husband,  and  of  course ” She  broke  off 

abruptly. 

“ 1 want  you  to  come  to  my  father’s,  and  stay  there  with  your  boys 
till  you  sail.  I will  bring  your  sister-in-law  to  you.” 

Koor&li  started  and  shrank  back.  “Lord  Forrest.  Oh  no!  I couldn’t. 
What  would  he  think  ? ” 

“ Nothing  except  what  is  kind  and  chivalrous.  It  would  be  a delight 
to  him  to  be  of  service  to  you,  Mrs.  Kenway.  He  has  the  greatest 
liking  and  admiration  for  you.  You  would  not  be  safe  at  your  sister- 
in-law’s.  I mean  that  your  husband — or — or — any  one  who  wanted 
to  find  you  would  naturally  look  for  you  there ; and  besides,  society 
doesn’t  know  very  much  about  Mrs.  Eustace  Ken  way.  No ; you  must 
think  of  your  children  and  your  father  and  your  friends ; and  you  must 
leave  this  country  in  such  a way  that  spite  itself  could  find  nothing  to 
say  against  you.  Now,  Mrs.  Ken  way,  my  father  has  odd,  eccentric 
ways,  and  he  does  not  fall  in  with  the  new  times  or  with  society ; but 
I am  proud  to  be  able  to  say  that  what  you  do  with  his  sanction  and 
under  the  shelter  of  his  authority  and  his  care  will  be  held  by  society 
to  be  well  done.  No  one  living  will  suspect  him  of  countenancing  a 
wrong  thing  or  helping  man  or  woman  who  did  not  deserve  the  help  of 
every  gentleman  and  every  Christian.  Come,  you  see  that  I am  right.” 

She  put  out  her  hand  in  silent  gratitude.  He  took  it  in  his,  raised 
it  chivalrously  to  his  lips,  and  then  only  said,  “ Come,  let  us  make  our 
arrangements.” 

She  felt  that  he  was  right.  He  had  removed  the  one  difficulty  out 
of  her  path.  She  would  be  safe  in  every  way  under  Lord  Forrest’s 
roof  until  she  could  sail  with  her  boys.  There  was  a streak  of  melan- 
choly humour  in  the  thought  which  came  into  her  mind  that  Crichton 
Kenway  might  be  trusted  not  to  say  a word  in  disapproval  of  any 
arrangement  which  was  sanctioned  by  Lord  Forrest ; indeed,  would 
probably  feel  rather  proud  that  his  wife  had  found  shelter  even  from 
him  under  the  roof  of  this  grand  old  Jacobite  peer.  She  felt  safe  now. 
She  knew  that  she  could  save  herself  and  Morse. 

“You  would  like  to  be  alone  now  for  a little?”  Arden  said,  after 
they  had  settled  about  her  going  to  his  father’s  house. 

“Yes,”  she  said;  “I  should  like  to  be  alone  for  a little — just  a little.” 

She  had  still  something  to  do.  Perhaps  Arden  could  have  guessed 
what  it  was. 

Koor&li’s  arrangements  were  made,  her  trunks  were  packed,  her 
children,  wondering  where  they  were  to  be  taken,  were  dressed  and 
waiting  in  the  nursery.  There  still  remained  some  little  time  before 
the  hour  Arden  had  fixed  for  her  to  meet  him  at  Forrest  House.  He 
had  thought  it  wiser  that  he  should  not  return  for  her,  but  that  she 
should  leave  her  husband’s  roof  alone. 

She  had  looked  round  the  familiar  rooms,  and  had  wondered  vaguely 
what  Crichton  would  say  and  do  when  he  came  back  and  found  them 
empty.  She  had  said  her  farewell  to  them  and  to  the  associations  A 
her  married  life.  She  had  no  lingering  regrets,  no  sentimental  desire 


KOORALTS  LETTER. 


303 


to  dally  with  the  situation.  There  was  in  her  heart  no  feeling  of  ten- 
derness towards  her  husband,  of  pity  or  personal  sorrow.  She  had  got. 
beyond  all  that.  The  greater  had  swallowed  up  the  less.  Had  she 
ever  loved  him  there  might  have  been  room  for  wifely  emotion.  As  it 
was,  it  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  had  never  been  his  wife  at  all  in 
the  real  and  noble  sense  of  the  word ; and  this  severance  of  their  lives 
was  a saving  operation  in  life-surgery  rather  than  a catastrophe.  She 
had  passed  beyond  the  limit  of  conventional  feeling.  She  was  experi- 
encing an  ordeal  in  which  only  the  ruling  instincts  of  her  nature  sur- 
vived— duty  and  love. 

There  was  one  last  task  to  be  performed,  the  bitterest,  the  hardest. 
At  five  o’clock  Morse  would  come.  He,  too,  would  find  the  house 
empty  of  her.  She  had  not  ventured  to  write  to  him  at  his  own  house, 
or  his  club,  or  to  the  House  of  Commons.  She  did  not  know  what  his 
movements  might  be,  and  feared  lest  her  letter  might  not  reach  him. 
She  went  into  her  own  little  sitting-room,  where  she  had  received 
Arden,  and  set  herself  to  write.  But  the  pen  dropped  from  her  fingers. 
She  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  writing-table  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  It  was  over — the  bright  dream  which  had  first  shone  upon  her 
girlhood,  and  which  had  come  again  shedding  such  radiance  over  her 
grey  life.  Before  her  all  seemed  black  as  night.  She  could  imagine 
no  future.  The  conflict  she  had  gone  through  was  as  the  wrench 
between  body  and  soul.  It  was  like  death — now  that  the  struggle 
was  over.  The  soul  had  parted  from  the  body  ; a corpse  remained. 

But  the  work  she  had  yet  to  do  must  be  done.  She  rallied  all  her 
strength  of  heart  and  mind,  and  she  wrote  a letter  to  Morse.  She 
gave  herself  no  further  time  to  think;  she  wrote  it  at  breathless 
speed,  though  the  tears  sometimes  blinded  her.  Then  she  gave  it  to 
her  maid  and  told  her  what  to  do. 

At  five  o’clock  Morse  came  to  the  deserted  house.  He  asked  for 
Mrs.  Crichton  Kenway,  and  was  shown  upstairs  into  her  little  sitting- 
room.  He  assumed  that  she  was  waiting  for  him.  His  heart  was 
steel  in  its  determination.  Nothing  on  earth  was  worth  much  to  him 
any  more  but  only  Koorali.  He  closed  his  mind  against  all  thought 
of  what  the  world  would  say;  all  that  was  over.  He  had  resisted 
every  impulse  to  seek  her  love  until  fate  threw  them  together;  left 
them  side  by  side  and  alone.  They  were  as  two  who  have  been  put 
ashore  on  some  desert  island  in  the  midst  of  a vast  ocean  and  left 
there  alone.  What  were  society’s  laws,  conventionality’s  laws,  for  them? 
All  he  wanted  now  was  to  get  out  of  England  with  her,  caring  little 
where  they  went,  so  that  it  was  out  of  England.  In  the  bitterness  of 
his  heart  he  hoped  that  he  might  never  see  England  again — never, 
never  again. 

A woman’s  step  was  heard.  Morse  was  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  fireplace.  He  made  a movement  forward ; but  it  was  not  KoorMi 
who  came.  It  was  Koorali’s  maid. 

“ Please,  sir,”  she  said,  “ Mrs.  Kenway  has  just  gone  out ; but  she 
asked  me  to  give  you  this  letter.”  The  girl  put  a letter  into  Morse’s 


3°4 


“ THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


band,  busied  herself  a moment  in  brightening  the  light  of  the  lamp, 
and  then  left  him  alone. 

Morse  looked  at  the  letter.  Too  well  already  he  knew  what  it  would 
tell  him.  She  was  gone  from  him  for  ever ! It  did  not  need  a pro- 
phetic soul  to  tell  him  that.  With  an  iron  composure  he  drew  the 
lamp  nearer  to  him,  and  he  read  KoorMi’s  letter. 

“ My  Best,  almost  my  Only  Friend, 

“You  will  not  be  angry  with  me  for  what  I am  doing — I 
I now  you  will  not,  when  you  think  it  over.  There  is  nothing  else  for 
me  to  do — and  for  you.  I am  going  away ; I am  going  back  to  my 
father  in  South  Britain.  I am  going  to  begin  life  all  over  again — with 
what  a difference ! 

“You  will  not  try  to  see  me  again ; I know  you  will  not,  since  I ask 
you.  It  would  not  be  possible  for  us  to  meet  again  just  now.  I have 
thought  that  it  would  not  be  right  to  put  you  to  the  useless  pain  of 
seeing  me — since  we  must  separate ; and  so  I have  taken  on  me  to 
decide  for  both. 

“ Think  of  yourself,  my  friend — of  your  career  and  your  country. 
Ah ! even  if  I could  forget  myself  and  my  children  and  my  God,  I 
could  not  forget  you!  I could  not  forget  what  is  due  to  you  and 
your  future  and  your  fame.  You  will  forgive  your  wife ; it  was  only 
a moment’s  weakness.  You  must  remember  her  associations  and  her 
bringing-up.  She  is  not  to  be  tco  much  blamed;  and,  then,  are  we 
not  all  to  be  blamed  ? 

“ Perhaps,  some  time  long  distant  now,  when  you  are  older,  when  I 
am  old,  you  will  come  out  to  South  Britain  again  and  see  the  places 
you  knew  there  and  some  of  the  friends.  Perhaps  we  shall  talk  over 
all  this,  and  then  I shall  be  able  to  tell  you  all  I feel,  all  I have  felt, 
without  fear  or  shame. 

“ I could  keep  writing  on  and  on,  but  to  what  end  ? You  know  all 
that  I co/ald  say.  I pray  for  you  ; I hope  for  you.  Good-bye  ! 

“ Koorali.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

“ I WILL  ORDER  MY  HEART  TO  BEAR  IT.” 

Dusk  was  gathering  when  Morse  left  Koorali’s  house.  It  was  a 
gloomy  evening,  and  the  sky  was  heavy  with  gathering  snow.  Here 
and  there  lamps  twinkled,  but  the  western  horizon  was  red  still,  and 
the  old  grey  church  at  the  end  of  the  street,  its  spire  and  battlements 
outlined  in  wThite,  stood  out  venerable  and  solemn  against  dull  copper- 
coloured  clouds,  and  seemed  to  rebuke  the  fever  and  fret  of  human 
passion.  Yesterday’s  snow  lay  yet  on  the  ground,  and  hung  on  the 
trees,  but  its  beauty  was  gone,  its  purity  sullied. 

Morse  walked  on  like  a man  in  a dream,  his  footsteps  crunching  the 
unswept  snow  with  monotonous  regularity.  He  found  himself  some- 


“/  WILL  ORDER  MY  HEART  TO  BEAR  IT?  305 

how  in  the  Green  Park.  For  a while  he  was  hardly  conscious  of  his 
movements.  He  was  making  for  his  desolate  home,  but  he  scarce 
knew  why  he  was  going  there,  or,  indeed,  whither  he  was  going. 

Presently  he  got  into  the  streets  again.  An  old  crossing-sweeper 
whom  he  knew  touched  his  hat,  looking  as  though  he  had  something 
to  say,  and  Morse,  still  in  a dream,  found  himself  stopping  to  speak  to 
the  man. 

“ Bad  times  these,”  Morse  said  mechanically,  as  he  put  a coin  into 
the  sweeper’s  hand,  and  then  he  corrected  himself  with  a harsh  little 
laugh.  “ Good  for  you,  my  friend,  and  more  dirty  weather  coming. 
You  should  be  thankful.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  the  man  ; and  he  looked  at  Morse  with  that 
odd,  wistful,  moralizing  expression  which  may  be  noticed  sometimes 
on  the  faces  of  those  who  have  seen  better  days  but  are  resigned  to 
circumstances.  “Life  is  as  it  comes,  sir.  It  has  its  pains  and  pleasures, 
and  a deal  more  pain  than  pleasure.  But  you’re  in  the  right.  Thank- 
fulness is  the  cheapest  sauce  for  both.” 

“ You’ve  seen  a good  deal  of  life,  and  that’s  your  conclusion  ?”  said 
Morse. 

“ Yes,  sir,  close  on  sixty  years,  and  thirty  of  them  married  years, 
that  came  to  an  end  yesterday.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” said  Morse  again  with  his  harsh  laugh. 
“ Has  your  wife  run  away  from  you  ? ” 

“No,  sir;  she  went  straight  all  her  life,  and  she  brought  me  a 
family  that’s  dead  or  gone  crooked.  And  there  was  only  us  two  left, 
and  she  died  yesterday.  We  never  had  a quarrel  all  those  thirty 
years,  and  that’s  more,  sir,  than  most  married  couples  could  say — high 
or  low.” 

The  man  turned  abruptly  away,  and  began  to  sweep  vigorously. 

“ You’re  right,  my  friend,”  said  Morse  in  a bitter  tone.  “ That’s 
more  than  many  a married  couple  can  say,  even  after  ten  years  or  less. 
You  have  had  thirty — thirty  years  of  confidence  and  affection.  Well, 
as  you  say,  thankfulness  is  the  cheapest  sauce  for  either  pleasure  or 
pain.  I’m  very  sorry  for  you.” 

He  put  some  more  money  into  the  man’s  hand,  and  passed  quickly 
on,  with  the  thought  biting  his  heart  that  parting  by  death  from  some 
loved  one  is  not  the  worst  trial  that  can  befall  a human  companionship. 
Then  he  seemed  to  lose  self-consciousness  again  until  he  became  aware 
that  he  was  in  his  own  study  and  that  he  had  taken  a volume  off  the 
table  and  was  looking  into  it.  It  was  a volume  of  Horace.  He  had 
opened  it  at  the  fifth  satire  of  the  second  book,  and  his  eyes  rested  on 
certain  words — “ Fortem  hoc  animum  tolerare  jubebo.” 

“ I will  order  my  stout  heart  to  bear  it.”  Such  is  the  noble  language 
in  which  Horace,  not  always  one  to  appreciate  high  resolve,  makes 
Ulysses  answer  to  the  question, — “What  wdll  you  do  should  cruel 
misfortune  blight  your  dearest  hopes?”  Will  Morse  now  order  his 
stout  heart  to  bear  the  sudden  blight  that  has  come  over  his  dearest 
hopes?  Will  he  crush  down  his  ardent  longings;  rouse  himself  from 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


306 

his  dream  of  perfect  union  in  some  far-off  Eden,  and  seek  consolation 
in  all  the  cynical  commonplaces  which  proclaim  that  there  can  be  no 
abiding  happiness,  no  enduring  harmony  of  souls  ? Will  he  go  back 
to  his  “ world  of  men,”  determined  to  forget  the  woman  he  loved  and 
for  whom  he  would  have  given  up  all  ? A man  of  high  purpose,  who 
at  least  wishes  always  to  do  right,  will  stoutly  bear  such  a blow.  He 
will  refuse  to  seek  any  relief  from  pain,  and  will  go  on  as  before  with 
the  business  of  his  life,  suffering  indeed,  but  unsubdued ; or  else, 
admitting  that  he  cannot  quite  endure  it  for  the  time,  will  seek  dis- 
traction, perhaps  in  travel,  with  the  sincere,  strong  wish  to  find  healing 
of  his  wound  and  to  come  back  and  do  his  duty  in  his  world  of  men. 
When  the  first  shock  and  pain  were  over,  Morse  in  his  heart  acknow- 
ledged that  Koorali  had  done  right ; acknowledged  that  her  woman’s 
nature  had  taught  her  a higher  lesson  of  duty  than  he  had  learned  in 
all  his  man’s  experience  and  from  man’s  code  of  honour. 

But  he  had  been  hit  hard.  When,  standing  in  her  room,  he  first 
read  her  letter,  he  flung  out  both  arms  like  a man  who  had  received  a 
bullet  in  the  chest.  He  had  known  what  was  coming ; yes ; but  he 
felt  the  shock  all  the  same ; even  as  one  who  goes  into  a battle  with 
full  foreboding  that  he  is  to  die  there  yet  tosses  up  his  arms  convul- 
sively when  the  bullet  comes  that  kills  him. 

Now  that  first  shock  was  over,  and  he  was  once  more  in  his  lonely 
room  brooding  over  all  that  had  passed.  He  had  thrown  himself  upon 
the  broad  leather  couch  near  the  window,  and  was  sitting,  his  elbows 
on  the  back  of  it,  his  chin  upon  his  hands,  his  eyes  aimlessly  attracted 
by  that  painting  of  a desolate,  snowy  landscape  that  hung  over  the 
mantel-piece  opposite.  The  light  of  a gas-jet  fell  on  the  picture  and 
gave  it  a startling  prominence.  The  long,  straight,  lonely  road  which 
cut  it  in  two  and  stretched  to  the  red  horizon  ; the  waste  of  untrodden 
snow  on  either  side  ; the  gnarled  willows  in  the  foreground ; a solitary 
figure  outlined  against  the  sky;  a certain  weirdness  and  melancholy 
suggestiveness  in  the  whole  conception,  simple  as  it  was,  all  caught 
Morse’s  mood,  and  seemed  to  him  typical  of  his  own  condition.  It  re- 
minded him  in  some  strange  way  of  the  wide  stretch  of  meadow  below 
the  Grey  Manor  where  he  had  walked  with  Koorali.  He  imagined  the 
meadows  now,  snow-covered,  bleak ; stricken,  like  his  and  her  feeling 
for  one  another,  which  had  theu  been  so  innocent  of  wrong,  so  tender, 
so  sadly  sweet.  He  thought  of  her  bright,  gentle  ways  that  afternoon ; 
of  her  girl-like  pleasure  in  her  reeds  and.  flowers;  of  the  light  that  had 
come  into  her  face  at  the  sight  of  him.  He  thought  of  her  with  her 
children;  and  into  this  recollection  of  her  there  stole  a feeling  of 
sanctity,  and  then  a deep  hopeless  regret.  Oh,  what  unfading  happi- 
ness for  both,  had  she  been  his  wife,  the  mother  of  his  children ! How 
tenderly  he  would  have  guarded  her  against  any  shadow  of  pain.  Into 
what  fulness  of  beauty  and  perfume  would  her  nature  have  blossomed 

under  his  loving  care.  While  the  good  to  himself Are  not  such 

women  as  Koorali  heaven-sent  guides  to  lead  men  to  noble  things  ? 
And  now  he  must  never  see  her  more.  They  must  each  go  their  way, 


“I  WILL  ORDER  MY  HEART  TO  BEAR  IT”  307 

and  nothing  would  remain  for  either  hut  a seared  memory.  He  must 
travel  his  road  in  loneliness,  and  she  in  worse  than  loneliness.  Better 
they  had  never  met.  He  had  meant  her  so  much  good ! He  had 
brought  her  only  sorrow ! 

A groan  burst  from  him.  He  covered  his  face,  and  in  the  solitude 
of  the  room  a great  sob  shook  his  strong  fnme.  Soul  and  body  seemed 
to  spend  themselves  in  the  cry,  “ Koorali ! Koorali ! ” To  think  of 
her  cruelly  treated,  misprized,  when  to  him  she  would  have  been  the 
very  light  of  life.  God!  it  was  maddening.  Could  there  be  any 
scheme  of  an  overruling  Providence  in  this  phantasia  of  existence — 
this  meaningless  tangle  of  incongruities  and  contradictions?  Either  a 
set  of  devils  had  the  management  of  affairs  and  were  playing  at  an 
infernal  game  with  human  hearts  for  counters,  or  everything  was 
chance,  and  love  and  belief  and  all  the  deeper  emotions  of  humanity 
mere  parts  of  the  ghastly  joke. 

While  he  thus  brooded,  a hush  seemed  to  fall  upon  him  as  though 
an  invisible  hand  had  been  laid  upon  his  shoulder  or  a presence  in  the 
room  were  in  some  way  making  itself  felt.  He  looked  up  suddenly  and 
wildly.  All  was  as  it  had  been.  The  light  still  shone  brightly  upon 
the  picture,  and  on  that  lonely  figure  plodding  on  through  the  snow. 
Only  the  fire  had  gone  down.  He  must  have  been  sitting  there  a long 
time ; he  wondered  mechanically  how  long,  and  got  up  and  looked  at 
the  clock,  though  a moment  later  the  hour  had  passed  from  his  mind. 
He  seated  himself  again,  and,  as  he  did  so,  said  aloud,  with  a bitter 
hard  laugh,  “ There’s  an  end  of  it.” 

His  own  voice  startled  him.  It  was  as  if  another  voice  had  spoken. 
The  hush  deepened.  Then  there  came  upon  him  an  experience  not 
common  with  him.  He  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  that  subtle 
and  mysterious  influence  which  even  many  a cold  materialist  must  at 
some  time  have  felt,  the  power  without  one’s-self  working  not  for  good 
but  for  evil.  Strange  promptings  rose  in  Morse’s  mind.  It  was  as 
though  they  came  not  from  the  depths  of  his  own  nature,  but  were 
whispered  to  him  from  without.  It  was  as  though  there  were  truth  in 
the  theory  which  he  had  sometimes  slighted,  that  the  human  spirit 
must  force  its  way  through  beings  and  powers  of  the  unseen  world,  of 
which  any  hostile  one  may  in  moments  of  depression  or  mental  sick- 
ness creep  near  and  make  its  evil  influence  felt.  A voice  seemed  to 
speak  to  him,  and  to  argue  with  him. 

“ Why  try  to  rally  against  this  blow  in  the  old  way  of  stoics  and 
philosophers  and  Christians  ? ” the  voice  said  to  him.  “ Let  it  pass ; 
it  is  nothing  to  a man  of  spirit.  No  woman  is  worth  all  this  coil. 
She  would  have  disappointed  you,  or  you  would  have  disappointed  her. 
She  would  have  grown  tired  of  you,  or  you  would  have  grown  tired  of 
her.  See  what  has  come  of  your  marriage ; where  is  your  wife  now  ? 
Women  are  only  meant  to  be  the  amusements  and  the  playthings  of 
strong  and  sensible  men.  You  are  young  enough  yet ; you  have  time 
tor  enjoyment  and  ambition ; nothing  else  in  life  is  worth  thinking  of. 
Ambition  was  your  idol ; make  it  your  idol  again.  Go  in  for  success ; 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


308 

become  great  in  the  way  that  other  men  become  great  Is  it  not  the 
height  of  folly  and  vain-glory  to  imagine  that  you  are  nobler,  more 
disinterested  than  the  politicians  around  you  ? You  know  that  your 
belief  in  yourself  is  false.  You  know  that  egotism  is  the  root  of  your 
patriotism.  You  know  that  your  love  for  the  people  is  only  another 
name  for  love  of  power.  You  know  that  in  your  heart  you  arc  not 
really  devoted  to  any  public  cause;  this  very  day  you  would  have 
flung  up  every  cause,  every  public  object,  for  the  sake  of  a woman. 
Why  sacrifice  any  more  for  what  you  are  not  devoted  to  in  your  heart? 
Why  pretend  to  any  regard  for  virtue  and  duty  and  all  the  rest  of  it  ? 
You  are  not  virtuous ; you  are  iu  love  with  another  man’s  wife.  You 
would  have  gone  off  with  her,  only  she  would  not.  Duty?  you  did 
not  think  much  of  your  duty  to  your  own  wife — the  wife  of  your 
youth.  You  are  just  as  bad  as  other  men.  Don’t  be  a hypocrite  ; go 
in  for  taking  life  as  other  men  take  it,  and  get  all  the  enjoyment  you 
can  out  of  it.  Go  and  see  Lady  Warriner  to-morrow” — this  was  a 
pretty  and  clever  woman  who  openly  professed  a great  admiration  for 
Morse,  and  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  up  a flirtation  with  him — “ she 
will  amuse  you ; and  you  need  not  restrain  yourself  as  long  as  nothing 
gets  into  the  newspapers.  When  you  are  tired  of  her  you  can  drop 
her  and  take  up  with  some  other  woman.  Go  in  for  success  in  politics, 
and  make  yourself  Prime  Minister,  never  mind  by  what  means,  and 
have  all  the  enjoyment  you  can  meanwhile.  The  world  that  howls  at 
you  now  will  applaud  you  then  ; and,  as  for  your  conscience  and  your 
soul,  see  what  you  have  done  writh  them  already ! It  is  of  no  use 
trying  to  be  any  better  than  the  rest  of  the  world  when  you  are  not 
any  better.  Other  men  get  power  and  pleasure  by  being  bad ; you  are 
bad ; you  know  it.  Why  not  have  the  power  and  the  pleasure  too  ? ” 
That  subtlest,  most  demoralizing  form  of  temptation  to  the  really  con- 
scientious  nature,  the  temptation  to  think  that  retrieval  is  hopeless,  was 
rung  with  pitiless  iteration  into  Morse’s  ear.  “ You  have  fallen ; you 
cannot  be  again  as  you  were ; be  content  to  be  just  as  bad  as  others, 
since,  after  all,  they  are  no  worse  than  you  ! ” 

Every  one  is  familar  with  the  struggle  that  takes  place  within  him- 
self— the  struggle  of  the  two  sides  of  the  one  nature ; the  deliberate 
weighing  of  right  and  wrong,  of  present  gratification  against  after- 
penalty. But  the  temptation  to  Morse  seemed  to  come  distinctly  from 
without.  All  the  time  he  knew  that  his  own  soul  held  no  such 
struggle  as  that  now  forced  on  him ; he  knew  that  the  promptings  he 
heard  were  not  the  promptings  of  even  the  worse  part  of  his  nature  or 
any  part  of  his  nature.  They  came  from  without.  That  was  as  clear 
to  him  as  any  physical  fact  in  the  material  world  around  him.  Of 
course  his  nerves,  his  spirit,  his  senses,  his  heart,  had  been  put  to  the 
severest  strain  by  the  events  succeeding  events  of  the  last  few  days. 
The  riots ; the  death  of  Masterson ; the  odious  charges  against  him- 
self ; the  scene  in  the  House  of  Commons — only  yesterday,  and  seeming 
already  so  far  away ; the  desertion  of  Lady  Betty,  about  the  mitigating 
features  of  which  he  knew  nothing  as  yet ; his  sudden,  wild,  despairing 


UI  WILL  ORDER  MY  HEART  TO  BEAR  ITT  309 

effort  to  prevail  on  Koorali  to  go  away  with  him ; the  shock  of  her  dis- 
appearance ; the  pathos  of  her  letter ; — all  this  was  too  much  for  even 
his  strong  frame  and  brave  spirit  to  bear.  He  was  in  that  condition  of 
mind  and  body  which  blurs  and  confuses  the  distinction  between  the 
within  and  the  without ; between  the  real  and  the  unreal ; that  con- 
dition to  which,  in  the  words  of  Schiller,  the  kingdom  of  the  ghosts  is 
so  easily  opened.  Morse  did  not  believe  even  then,  even  for  the 
moment,  that  a voice  was  actually  speaking  to  him  as  he  stood  in  his 
lonely  room ; and  yet  the  words  seemed  to  sound  in  his  ear  as  if  they 
came  straight  from  the  lips  of  some  tempter  in  bodily  presence. 
Again  and  again  the  suggestions  of  evil  poured  in  upon  him,  and  all 
the  time  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  “These  promptings  are  not  mine  ; 
they  come  from  no  part  of  my  nature;  they  are  foreign  to  me.”  No 
man  was  less  open  in  his  ordinary  condition  to  the  influences  which 
make  men  credulous  and  supply  the  demands  of  the  mesmerist  and  the 
sorcerer;  and  even  now,  even  in  his  present  condition,  Morse  tried  to 
pull  himself  together  and  composedly  examine  into  the  real  source  of 
the  appeal  thus  sounding  in  his  ears.  But  the  more  resolutely  he 
watched,  the  more  coolly  he  listened,  the  more  distinct  came  the 
promptings  from  without.  “ Enjoy  life ; live  for  power  and  pleasure. 
Your  life,  so  far,  has  been  a failure  every  way  because  you  vainly 
fancied  you  were  better  than  other  men.  Think  nothing  of  any  parti- 
cular woman.  Shame  for  a strong  man  to  make  himself  the  dependent 
of  some  one  woman.  Take  women  as  they  come ; make  playthings  of 
them  ; treat  them  as  other  men  do.  If  life  must  end  in  remorse,  let  it* 
at  least,  be  lived  out  meanwhile  in  gratification  of  the  only  impulses 
that  make  it  bearable.  You  have  earned  for  yourself  remorse  in  any 
case.  Since  you  are  to  pay  the  forfeit,  why  not  enjoy  the  game  ? ” 

Then,  as  one  shakes  himself  free  of  a nightmare  and  breathes  deeply 
and  awakes,  Morse  got  up  suddenly,  flung  the  mood  and  the  tempta- 
tion from  him.  “ I will  order  my  stout  heart  to  bear  it,”  he  said  to 
himself.  “ I would  have  committed  a crime — yes ; but  she  has  saved 
me.  I thank  her,  and  I thank  Heaven  that  made  her.  I will  live 
as  she  would  have  me  live.  She  shall  see  that  I am  not  unworthy  to 
be  remembered  by  her.” 

He  buried  his  head  in  his  hands  and  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  The 
tears  softened,  relieved,  and  made  strong  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXVHL 

ZEN  COMES. 

Koonlu  and  her  children  were  met  almost  at  the  entrance  to  Forrest 
House  by  the  old  peer  himself  and  a stately  ancient  dame,  his  house- 
keeper. He  received  Koorali  with  a chivalrous  courtesy,  a protecting 
tenderness  that  in  her  forlorn  and  miserable  state  moved  her  nearly 


3io 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE? 


to  tears.  Her  nerves  had  been  so  cruelly  wrung,  she  had  felt  so  keenly 
the  sting  of  her  dependence  when  brought  face  to  face  with  the  position, 
and  forced,  now  that  the  moment  for  action  had  come,  to  realize  her 
utter  helplessness  without  money  and  without  relatives  who  would 
take  her  part  against  the  world,  that  to  find  herself  thus  lifted  into 
a secure  refuge,  befriended  and  honoured  by  one  whose  very  name 
would  be  a shield  against  calumny,  was  relief  so  intense  as  to  break 
down  the  grim  composure  which  had  sustained  her  in  her  hard  resolve. 
A sob  shook  her  voice  when  she  tried  to  utter  her  thanks  for  Lord 
Forrest’s  greeting,  in  which  he  begged  her  to  consider  his  house  hers 
and  to  command  his  entire  service.  She  could  only  look  up  at  him 
with  dimmed,  frightened  eyes  and  gratefully  press  the  hand  that  had 
taken  hers.  She  had  the  feeling  of  one  in  a dream  when  the  massive 
doors  closed  behind  her  on  the  outer  world.  The  square  hall,  lighted 
by  stained  glass  windows  emblazoned  in  armorial  designs,  the  rich-hued 
tapestry,  the  strange  carvings,  the  fifteenth-century  cabinets,  the 
Gubbio  plaques  and  Palissy  ware,  the  array  of  portraits  that  looked 
down  from  the  walls  like  living  people  of  a bygone  time ; even  the 
stately  old  nobleman,  with  his  white  pointed  beard,  his  deep-set  dark 
eyes,  his  courtly  bearing — all  seemed  part  of  her  dream.  The  servants, 
grave  and  dignified,  in  harmony  with  their  surroundings,  stood  back 
as  the  old  man  offered  Koorali  his  arm,  and  led  her  up  the  broad  stair- 
case, and  along  a corridor,  to  the  suite  of  rooms  which  had  been  hastily 
prepared  for  her. 

The  boys  were  a little  awed  and  frightened  by  the  strangeness  and 
solemnity  of  it  all.  Miles  clung  to  his  mother,  gazing  up  at  her  with 
scared,  wistful  eyes ; and  Lance  uttered  a dismayed  ejaculation  as  she 
moved  away  with  her  host.  But  there  was  something  in  Lord  Arden’s 
cheery  hand-clasp,  and  he  walked  on  and  looked  bravely  round  him 
at  the  paintings  and  the  bric-a-brac,  and  asked  no  questions,  like  a 
well-mannered  child. 

The  sitting-room  into  which  Lord  Forrest  took  Koorkli  had,  too, 
an  old-world  flavour  of  memories  and  associations.  It  put  her  in  mind 
of  one  of  the  rooms  she  had  seen  in  the  Little  Trianon,  and  there  was 
a melancholy  suggestion  of  something  feminine  in  the  decorations, 
which  were  after  the  style  of  the  French  Regency — in  the  faded  blue 
satin  hangings,  and  in  the  arrangement  of  the  furniture. 

The  old  man  glanced  round  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom  the  place 
was  unfamiliar,  and  in  whom  it  had  awakened  tender  and  half-painful 
recollections. 

“This  w7as  my  daughter’s  room,  Mrs.  Ken  way,”  he  said,  “and  it  is 
yours  as  long  as  you  will  honour  my  house  by  staying  in  it.  You’ll 
let  me  come  and  see  you  here  sometimes,  and  you  will  pay  me  a visit 
by-and-by  in  my  bookworm’s  corner  ? I am  an  old  recluse,  as  you 
know,  and  I don’t  interfere  much  with  Arden,  who  entertains  his 
friends  in  his  own  fashion ; but  you  are  my  friend  and  my  guest  as 
well  as  his,  and  I shall  claim  my  rights  over  you.” 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  as  he  had  once  before  done,  and  was 


ZEN  COMES . 31 1 

taking  his  leave.  Koorkli  found  words  now.  She  clasped  his  hand  in 
both  of  hers,  and  her  pathetic  eyes,  wet  with  tears,  met  his. 

“ Oh,  Lord  Forrest ! ” she  exclaimed,  with  a sob,  “ I don’t  know 
how  to  tell  you  what  I feel.  I don’t  know  how  to  thank  you  for  being 
so  good  to  me.  I had  nobody.  I was  in  trouble — ” her  voice  broke 
for  a second — “I  did  so  want  help — and  you  have  helped  me.  And 
I have  no  claim  on  you — or  anything.  But  I shall  think  of  you  and 
be  grateful  to  you  when  I am  far  away.  I shall  never  forget ! ” 

Lord  Forrest  looked  at  her  gravely  and  tenderly.  “ My  dear,”  he 
said,  “a  man  of  my  years  and  my  ways,  who  has  left  himself  so  little 
chance  of  doing  good  to  any  one,  finds  a benefaction  conferred  on  him 
by  any  one  who  wants  a helping  hand  and  allows  his  to  be  the  hand.” 
With  these  words  he  left  her. 

Presently  a maid,  who  seemed  already  established  as  Koorali’s  atten- 
dant, took  the  children  away.  The  home-likeness  deepened  her  sense 
of  strangeness  and  desolation.  She  leaned  back  and  drew  a quick 
breath  like  a gasp  of  pain.  A clock  on  the  mantel-piece  struck  five. 
The  knell — it  was  a knell  to  her — seemed  a knife-thrust.  She  gave  a 
start,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  as  women  do  when  they 
suffer.  Her  soul  was  in  her  own  little  room  at  home — the  home  she 
had  left  for  ever.  It  was  with  Morse.  Ah ! did  she  not  know  that  he 
would  be  punctual  to  his  tryst.  It  shared  his  anguish.  He  would 
read  her  letter.  Why  had  she  not  written  more  tenderly  ? Why  had 
she  not  poured  forth  all  the  yearning  and  the  sorrow  that  were  in  her 
heart  ? Why  had  she  not  taken  that  poor  comfort  since  she  had  so 
sternly  denied  to  them  both  all  other  comfort  ? 

Arden  suddenly  came  in. 

“ Mrs.  Kenway,  I am  going  down  to  the  Priory,  and  I shall  bring 
your  sister-in-law  back  with  me  to-morrow,  I hope.  My  train  leaves 
in  half  an  hour.” 

Koorali  gazed  at  him  in  a bewildered  way.  She  half  rose.  “You 
are  going  ” — she  said,  in  a strained  voice,  and  added  helplessly,  “ I 
don’t  know  whether  Zen  is  at  the  Priory.” 

“ Yes,  she  is  there,”  replied  Arden.  “ I telegraphed  to  her  and  have 
received  her  answer.  Tell  me,  is  there  anything  special  you  wish  me 
to  say  to  her,  or  will  you  trust  me  to  do  what  I think  best,  and  to  bring 
her  in  spite  of  any  obstacle  ? ” 

Koorali  got  up  from  her  seat  and  stood  before  him,  her  hands 
clasped  nervously.  He  saw  that  she  was  trembling  with  suppressed 
emotion. 

“ I don’t  know.  I can  think  of  nothing,  except  that  I must  leave 
England  at  once ; there  must  be  no  delay.  Zen  will  come  to  me.  Oh 
yes,  I know  that  she  will  come,  and  that  she  will  help  me  to  go  away, 
and  to  take  my  children.  And  I can  trust  her  not  to  betray  me  te  my 
husband.  Oh,  Lord  Arden,  nothing  must  stop  me — ” she  spoke  in  a 
passionate  undertone — “I’m  trusting  everything  to  you  and  Zen;  and 
my  peace — the  peace  of  others — more  than  you  can  ever  know,  depend 
on  my  going  away  quickly.” 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


312 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  and  pressed  them,  releasing  them 
again  in  a moment. 

“ You  shall  go,”  he  said  firmly  but  soothingly  ; “ and  in  peace  and 
safety.  Your  steamer  sails  in  three  days’  time;  I have  found  this  out 
for  certain,  and  all  shall  be  arranged  as  you  wish.  I pledge  myself. 
And  now,  good-bye  till  to-morrow.  I will  bring  Zen.” 

When  he  had  gone  the  stately  housekeeper  herself  brought  Miles 
and  Lance  to  their  mother.  She  stayed  a little  while  and  talked  about 
her  master  and  his  lonely  life,  about  the  dead  girl  who  had  long  ago 
occupied  these  rooms  which  had  been  given  to  Koorali,  about  the 
pleasure  she  felt  in  seeing  a lady  in  the  house,  and  one  of  whom  Lord 
Forrest  thought  so  much.  No  one,  she  said,  ever  stayed  in  Forrest 
House,  except  Lady  Betty  Morse,  and  she  but  once  in  many  years. 
Perhaps  Mrs.  Kenway  did  not  know  that  Lady  Betty  was  a connection 
of  the  family,  which  had  not  altogether  approved  of  her  marriage  with 
Mr.  Morse.  To  be  sure,  that  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  how 
things  were,  and  that  Lady  Betty  had,  so  to  speak,  been  trained  to 
love  the  Queen  and  royal  family.  Every  one  knew  that  Mr.  Morse 
wanted  to  abolish  monarchy  and  the  House  of  Lords,  and  had  secretly 
incited  the  rioters  in  the  recent  outrages.  Had  Mrs.  Ken  way  seen  the 
evening  papers,  which  were  full  of  such  dreadful  things  about  him?  etc. 

Later,  Koorali  dined  alone  with  Lord  Forrest.  He  too  spoke  cf 
Morse  and  Lady  Betty,  though  in  different  fashion.  He  was  deeply 
concerned  at  Lady  Betty’s  attitude  towards  her  husband.  He  had 
learned  that  she  intended  to  leave  town  immediately  with  her  father, 
and  to  stay  at  Lord  Germilion’s  place  in  the  country.  “ Poor  pretty 
butterfly ! ” he  said  musingly.  “ The  bright  wings  are  not  fitted  for 
a rainy  day.  They  can  only  flutter  in  the  sunshine.”  Koorali  could 
not  trust  herself  to  speak  of  Lady  Betty.  She  had  a sensation  of 
suffocation.  She  scarcely  dared  raise  her  eyes.  She  was  glad  when 
Lord  Forrest  went  on  to  talk  of  the  political  situation.  London,  he 
said,  was  alive  with  rumours.  There  was  one  that  the  ambassador 
had  been  recalled  from  the  capital  of  that  State  which  was  England’s 
enemy,  and  that  the  Mediterranean  squadron  had  received  orders  to 
move.  The  Ministers  had  been  in  close  conclave  that  day.  The  papers 
were  howling  at  Morse,  calling  upon  him  to  defend  himself,  lamenting 
in  terms,  some  ironical,  and  some  sincere,  the  downfall  of  a statesman, 
the  ruin  of  a career.  “We  are  ruled  by  passion  and  panic,”  Lord 
Forrest  said.  “Mob  law  prevails  in  Downing  Street  as  well  as  in 
Hyde  Park.  The  dynasty  of  a revolution  must  do  homage  to  revolt.” 

So  the  waking  nightmare  wore  on  only  to  repeat  itself  in  her  broken 
slumbers.  All  through  her  dreams  she  was  with  Morse  and  yet  apart. 
His  sorrowful  eyes  gazed  at  her  through  mist  and  gloom.  In  the 
distance  she  saw  his  face,  stern  and  impassive  no  longer.  She  heard 
his  voice  as  from  afar,  shaken  in  passionate  pleading.  She  struggled 
to  reach  him,  to  touch  his  hand,  to  utter  but  one  word  of  love  and 
consolation.  She  could  not  speak.  A force  stronger  than  herself  bore 
her  away.  The  dumb  yearning  was  agony.  It  was  as  though  her  very 


ZEN  COMES. 


3*3 


being  were  rent.  She  awoke  with  a cry,  awoke  to  silence  and  darkness 
and  loneliness  intense.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  wildly.  Were 
these  limbs  flesh  and  blood,  with  power  to  move,  a force  in  nature ; and 
was  this  mighty  love  a mere  exhalation,  an  unreality?  Was  there  no 
life  for  it.  and  no  immortality?  Did  this  wondrous  affinity  of  soul 
mean  nothing?  In  the  eternal  code  was  there  no  law  for  spirit  as  for 
matter,  which  should  command  like  to  like  in  everlasting  union  ? Was 
there  no  solution  now  or  in  the  hereafter  of  the  terrible  enigma  of  love? 

Zen  looked  shy  and  not  altogether  like  herself  when  she  was  ushered 
into  one  of  the  great  sombre  rooms  of  Forrest  House  where  Koor&li  was 
sitting.  Lord  Arden  had  brought  her  almost  to  the  door  of  the  room, 
but  he  felt  that  his  presence  might  then  be  an  embarrassment  to  Koorali, 
and  he  left  Zen  to  go  in  alone. 

The  two  women  met  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  Koorali  was 
clasped  in  Zen’s  sturdy  arms. 

“Oh,  Zen,”  Kx>rMi  said,  “I  knew  you  would  come.  I knew  that 
you’d  stand  by  me  and  help  me.” 

Zen  released  the  fragile  form,  and,  holding  it  at  a little  distance, 
gazed  at  Koorali,  her  own  brown  eyes  lull  of  tears. 

“ Well,  now,”  she  said  at  last,  in  her  spasmodic  fashion,  “1.  shouldn’t 
have  thought  it  wanted  much  knowing  to  make  certain  that  I’d  be  a 
good  pal  to  you,  Koorali.  Didn’t  I always  say  that  it  was  you  and  I 
against  the  Family  ? Of  course  I’ll  stand  by  you,  dear ; and,  what  is 
more,  I have  brought  Eustace  to  stand  by  you  too.” 

A blush  came  over  Zen’s  face  as  she  spoke,  hut  Koorali  was  too  full 
of  her  own  trouble  to  notice  it. 

“ Eustace,”  she  exclaimed,  shrinking  visibly.  “ Oh,  Zen,  I didn’t 
want  you  to  tell  him  where  I was.” 

“ I had  to  tell  him,”  said  Zen.  She  paused  a moment.  “ Eustace 
and  I have  had  a mutual  explanation,”  she  added  solemnly;  “ain’t 
that  the  way  to  put  it?  But  never  mind  about  the  explanation  now  ; 
it  will  keep.  You  needn’t  be  afraid.  I will  say  for  Eustace  that  he 
is  not  one  to  split  on  a bargain ; and  he  and  I have  made  a ha* gain.” 
Zen  paused  again  and  blushed,  with  her  grave  yet  somewhat  em- 
barrass; d air. 

“What  sort  of  a bargain,  Zen?”  Koorali  asked  nervously.  She 
began  to  fear  that  she  had  been  the  cause  of  a quarrel  between  the 
two.  Zen  undeceived  her. 

“ Never  mind.  We’ll  come  to  that  presently.  Anyhow,  it  has 
very  little  to  do  with  you,  and  you’re  what  we’ve  got  to  think  of  now. 
Tell  me  all  about  it ; you’ve  quarrelled  with  Crichton,  and  you  are 
revenging  yourself  upon  him  by  running  away  and  taking  the 
children  ? ” 

“ I'm  going  away,  Zen  ; but  it  is  not  out  of  revenge.  And  Crichton 
does  not  care  so  much  as  I do  about  the  children.  He  will  not  miss 
them — or  me.” 

“ I believe  you  there,”  said  Zen.  “ He  won’t  break  his  heart  anil 
cry  his  eyes  out.  And  I suppose  you  have  got  as  good  a right  to 
21 


3»4 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


them  as  he  has.  I don’t  think  he’ll  try  to  get  them  back  once  he 
finds  they  are  out  of  sight.  If  you  want  to  get  off  in  the  dark,  Koo- 
rali, I’ll  manage  it  for  you;  but  I’d  like  to  know  what  you  really  are 
up  to.” 

Zen  seated  herself  in  a decided  manner  in  one  of  Lord  Forrest’s 
antique  chairs,  the  arms  of  which  penned  in  her  abundant  draperies, 
while  the  straight  back  threw  out  her  feathered  French  bonnet  into 
startling  relief.  A queer  little  smile  flickered  over  Zen’s  face,  which 
had  hitherto  been  becomingly  serious.  “ I think  Lord  Arden  would 
say  that  I was  tolerably  incongruous  here,”  she  said  parenthetically, 
her  eyes  roving  round  over  the  quaint  carving  and  the  tapestry  upon 
the  walls.  “I’d  clean  up  all  that  pretty  quick,  or  I’d  have  it  down 
and  put  up  some  nice  smart  plush.  Come,  Koorali,  what  does  it  all 
mean,  and  why  have  you  taken  the  bit  between  your  teeth  ? He  told 
me  not  to  ask  questions,  and  I won’t.  I shouldn’t  want  to  go  with 
Crichton  to  Farnesia.  I’d  make  myself  scarce.  Crichton  is  mean  and 
he  is  a bully.  But  why  don’t  you  stop  here,  and  let  him  be  king  of 
the  Cannibal  Islands  all  by  himself?  Why  don’t  you  stop  and  fight 
it  out?  I wouldn’t  go  to  Australia  when  I could  have  my  fun  in 
London.  I wouldn’t  climb  down  if  I were  you.  Eustace  and  I will 
stand  by  you ; and  as  for  the  Family,  why  it  will  give  them  some 
occupation  praying  for  the  regeneration  of  your  soul.  Think  of  all 
the  friends  you’ve  got  here.  There’s  Lord  Forrest,  the  Morses,  and — 
Koorali,  does  Mr.  Morse  know  what  you  mean  to  do?  ” Zen’s  brown 
eyes  gazed  at  her  sister-in-law  with  a suddenly  puzzled  expression  in 
which  there  was  a trace  of  alarm. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Koorali  steadily,  “he  knows.” 

Zen  did  not  speak  for  a moment  or  two.  Koorali  could  not  bear 
her  steady  gaze  lor  long,  though  she  met  it  now  without  flinching. 
She  kneeled  down  suddenly  before  Zen,  and,  taking  Zen’s  hands  in 
hers,  said,  without  raising  her  eyes  — 

“It’s  no  use  trying  to  argue  with  me,  Zen  dear.  My  mind  is  made 
up.  I don’t  mean  to  accuse  Crichton — to  you  or  other  people.  You 
must  all  think  what  you  please;  and  if  you  blame  me,  perhaps  I 
deserve  it,  though  not  as  much  as  you  fancy.” 

“ I shall  not  let  any  one  blame  you,”  exclaimed  Zen  impetuously. 
“ You  may  be  sure  of  that.  It  would  take  nothing  short  of  a miracle 
to  convince  me  that  you  were  in  the  wrong.” 

“ I can’t,  explain  things  to  you,  Zen.  You  must  only  believe  that 
there  is  nothing  else  for  me  to  do — nothing.  I am  very  unhappy,  and 
my  life  is  broken.  I want  to  go  away  with  my  children,  who  are  all 
I have  got  in  the  world  now,  and  be  at  peace  for  a little  while.  I 
mean  to  stay  in  Australia  among  my  own  people  till  the  boys  are 
older,  and  then  something  must  he  settled.  I can’t  tell  what.  I am 
too  miserable  and  perplexed  to  think ; but  I will  try  to  do  whatever 
Is  right  and  just  for  them.  I will  not  let  my  boys’  prospects  be 
injured  through  me.  You  must  just  believe  all  this,  Zen.  I am  going 
in  secret,  because  if  Crichton  knew  he  would  take  the  children  from  me 


3*5 


ZEN  COMES . 

—not  because  he  cares,  but  because  he — ” she  stopped  for  an  instant 
— “ Never  mind  that — only,  if  Eustace  betrays  me — oh,  Zen,  he  won’t 
betray  me  ? ” 

“No;”  replied  Zen  sturdily.  “I  have  squared  Eustace.  I left 
him  in  the  hotel  with  a French  novel,  and  he’ll  read  that  till  I come 
back ; and  then,  if  I tell  him,  he’ll  go  and  take  your  passage  and  see 
about  making  you  comfortable.  That’s  part  of  the  bargain.  Oh,  my 
dear,  go  on  and  say  whatever  it  is  a relief  to  you  to  have  out.  I 
won’t  ask  any  questions,  and  I’ll  forget  it  all  again ; but  it  must  do 
you  some  good  to  know  that  you’ve  got  a sister  who  feels  for  you 
from  the  bottom  of  her  heart.” 

Zen  stooped  forward,  and,  putting  her  arms  round  Koor&li’s  neck, 
laid  her  cheek  against  Koorali’s  hair.  The  two  women  clung  to  each 
other,  and  tears  fell  from  Koorali’s  eyes  on  Zen’s  costly  velvet  and  fur. 

“ I never  had  a sister,”  said  Koorali.  “ It  seems  as  if  I had  been 
alone  all  my  life.  I sent  for  you,  Zen,  because  I knew  your  good 
heart,  dear,  and  because  I had  no  money  and  not  a friend  in  the  world 
I could  ask  to  help  me  except  you  and  Lord  Arden.  And  I remem- 
bered what  you  had  said  to  me,  and  Lord  Arden  went  for  you.” 

“ You  did  me  the  best  service  one  woman  could  do  another,”  ex- 
claimed Zen,  with  a passionate  vehemence  that  made  Koorali  loosen 
the  arms  which  held  her  and  gaze  up  at  Zen  with  eyes  gleaming 
through  tears;  but  Zen  tightened  the  embrace  once  more,  and  went 
on  hurriedly,  with  her  face  against  Koorali’s.  “ Look  here,  I must 
tell  you,  even  in  the  middle  of  your  own  trouble — I know  it  will  please 
you.  You  have  brought  Eustace  and  me  together — you  and  Lord 
Arden  between  you.  He’s  a real  good  fellow,  Koorali — Lord  Arden,  I 
mean — and  I liked  him.  I always  thought  that  if  there  was  a man  on 
earth  who  could  make  me  better,  it  was  he  ; and  so  I hung  on  to  him 
all  the  autumn,  and  we  had  no  end  of  schemes  for  doing  the  people 
good.  I didn’t  mean  any  nonsense,  though  I dare  say  I was  foolish ; 
and  he  was  always  as  nice  and  as  friendly  and  respectful  as  if  I had 
been  one  of  those  old  frumps  of  ancestresses  in  ruffs  and  farthingales 
hanging  up  in  the  hall  here.  Well,  some  nice,  good-natured  persons 
— and  Crichton  Ken  way  was  one  of  them ; so  now  you  know  one  of 
the  grudges  Eve  got  against  him,”  added  Zen  savagely,  straightening 
herself  as  she  spoke — “ went  to  Eustace  in  a mean,  underhand  way, 
and  put  nasty  things  into  his  head ; and  Eustace  was  too  high  and 
mighty  to  have  it  out  fair  and  square,  but  started  off  to  Paris  in  a 
huff.  If  there’s  one  thing  I can’t  stand,  it’s  being  treated  as  if  I were 
an  umbrella — put  in  the  rack  when  not  wanted,  and  only  taken  out 
on  a rainy  day,”  sa  d Zen  frankly.  “ Alter  Eustace  came  back,  we 
had  a row — about  nothing;  we  never  got  near  the  root  of  it  all.  I 
made  sure  that  Eustace  was  sick  of  me  and  that  he  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  I was  dear  at  the  price.  I felt  like  praying  that  I 
might  be  twenty-one  in  an  hour,  and  have  the  right  to  pitch  all  my 
money  into  the  sea.  And,  oh,  Koorali,  I was  wrong  all  the  time.  I 
hadn’t  been  doing  myself  justice  or  Eustace  either.  When  Lord 


THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


3*6 

Arden  telegraphed  yesterday  to  ask  if  I could  take  him  in,  as  he 
wanted  to  see  me  about  something  particular,  and  I answered  back, 
‘Yes.  of  course,’  Eustace  was  just  starting  off  for  a family  shooting- 
party.  I begged  him  not  to  disarrange  his  plans  on  my  account,  for  I 
really  preferred  entertaining  Lord  Arden  alone.”  Zen  gave  a queer 
little  laugh,  which  had  in  it  something  like  the  sound  of  a sob.  “I 
never  saw  Eustace  so  moved,  Kooikli.  He  turned  white  with  rage. 
He  ordered  the  carriage  round  again,  and  he  dropped  his  eye-glass  and 
said  that  though  I might  choose  to  court  ill-natured  gossip,  it  was  his 
duty  as  my  husband  to  protect  me  against  it.  Well,  then,  I stormed 
and  cried  and  he  listened.  I told  him  that  I knew  he  didn’t  care  for 
me,  and  that  he  had  only  married  me  for  my  money,  when  he  was  in 
love  with  that  horrible  woman  in  Florence,  I told  him  all  that  my 
stepmother  had  said  to  me;  and  then  he  was  awfully  horrified,  and 
we  had  such  explanations.  And  somehow  it  came  out  that  he  really 
did  care  for  me,  but  thought  I didn’t  care  any  more  for  him;  and  I 
told  him  I thought  he  didn’t  care  for  me — and,  anyhow,  it’s  all  ri-ht 
now,  and  I am  so  happy  about  myself  and  so  miserable  about  you,  that 
I don’t  quite  know  whether  I am  laughing  or  crying.”  Indeed,  poor 
Zen  was  actually  lauehing  and  crying  at  once.  “ And  it  was  all 
through  you,  Koorali,”  she  contrived  to  say  between  smile  and  sob, 
“ that  Eustace  and  I came  together  again.  And  he  spoke  out  like  a 
man  about  you,  and  said  Ken  way  was  a c-cad,  don’t  you  know,  and 
that  you  oughtn’t  to  live  with  him  any  more;  and  that  he  would 
stand  by  you  against  all  the  Family  or  fifty  families  combined.  And 
when  he  said  that,  didn’t  I just  give  him  a kiss  ? So  it’s  all  right  now 
between  us,  anyhow.” 

Even  in  her  trouble  Koorali  felt  her  heart  thrill  with  delight  at  the 
prospect  of  Zen’s  happiness ; and  she  said  so  with  an  earnestness  that 
was  almost  passionate. 

“ I don’t  know  how  it  is,  Koorali,”  Zen  said,  " but  no  woman  ever 
impressed  me  as  you  did  from  the  first.  I felt  drawn  to  you  that  night 
of  the  family  dinner  in  the  most  extraordinary  way.  You  always 
made  me  feel  that  there  is  a lot  more  in  life  than  one  can  see  from  the 
outside  if  one  could  only  get  at  it.  I saw  directly  that  you  weren’t 
happy,  and  that  Crichton  was  a brute  to  you,  and  was  only  running 
you  in  society  to  get  what  he  could  through  you.  I saw  it  all— every- 
thing— and  I think  I know  why  you  are  going  away,  and  I honour 
you.  Yes,  I do.”  Zen’s  voice  faltered.  “ Go,  dear,  and  God  bless 
you ! ” 

Zen  came  again,  later  in  the  day,  to  report  that  Eustace  had  taken 
Koor&li’s  passage.  She  came  many  times  during  the  following  days, 
and  was  soon  on  quite  friendly  terms  with  the  hall  porter  at  Forrest- 
House.  She  was  not  brought  into  contact  with  Lord  Forrest,  who  in 
truth  had  a somewhat  nervous  dread  of  robust  Mrs.  Eustace  Ken  way. 
Arden  managed  the  whole  situation  with  commendable  tact.  He 
shielded  Koorali,  encouraged  Zen,  and  brought  Eustace  to  the  fore  in 
a maimer  which  was  gratifying  to  every  one-  Zen  took  upon  herself  all 


ZEN  COMES . 


3*7 


the  arrangements  that  had  to  be  made.  Zen  was  nothing  if  she  was 
not  practical;  and  half  her  importance  in  life  was  gone  when  she  was 
not  buying  things.  So  she  bought  a great  many  things.  She  provided 
outfits  for  the  boj^s  which  would  have  carried  them  through  a three 
years’  cruise.  She  exhausted  the  resources  of  Cromer’s  in  the  purchase 
of  toys,  and  she  invested  in  a small  library  to  cheer  Koorali’s  dull 
hours. 

She  did  think  of  buying  in  Tottenham  Court  Koad,  and  surrep- 
titiously shipping  furniture  for  Koorali’s  tmme  in  Australia,  but 
desisted  on  Eustace’s  representation  that  Koorali  would  stay  with  her 
father,  and  that  she  could  not  keep  her  boys  out  there,  and  that  some 
sort  of  reconciliation  would  probably  be  patched  up  when  Crichton  got 
tired  of  a bachelor  life  in  Farnesia,  though  Eustace  shrewdly  opined 
that  Crichton  would  be  pleased  enough  for  a year  or  two  to  pose  as  an 
injured  and  implacable  husband,  and  enjoy  his  salary  all  to  himself. 
Zen  had  a faint  notion  that  KoonUi  might  be  persuaded  at  some  future 
day  to  come  back  and  take  up  her  abode  at  the  Priory,  but  she  said 
nothing  about  it  now.  She  had  the  quickness  to  perceive  that  her 
cheerful  energy  and  preoccupation  with  material  ministrations  were 
more  soothing  to  Koorali  than  any  amount  of  spoken  sympathy  or 
high-minded  sentiment,  which  was  not  much  in  Zen’s  line.  As  Zen 
exprc  ssed  it,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  now  but  to  let  virtuous 
considerations  slide,  and  trick  Crichton  and  the  Family. 

Zen  took  a malicious  pleasure  in  foiling  Crichton.  He  came  up 
to  town  on  learning  of  his  wife’s  flight,  furious  against  her,  and 
threatening  to  set  the  detectives  on  her  track.  It  was  then  that 
Eustace  played  a stroke  of  diplomacy.  He  met  Crichton  raging  and 
declaring  that  his  name  had  been  dragged  in  the  mire,  and  that 
Koorali  had  disgraced  herself  before  London. 

“ I don’t  quite  see  what  you  are  driving  at,”  said  Eustace,  quietly 
fixing  his  eye-glass  after  he  had  let  Crichton  storm  for  a while.  u I 
suppose  you  and  your  wife  have  had  a difference  of  opinion.  Zen  and 
I often  have  differences  of  opinion.  She  runs  away,  or  1 run  away, 
and  we  make  them  up  again  after  a bit.  You‘11  make  yours  up  after 
a bit.  As  for  dragging  your  name  in  the  mud;  why,  it  needn’t  be 
dragged.  All  that  London  thinks  about  your  wife  is  that  she  must 
be  a very  chnrming  and  clever  young  woman  to  have  got  into  the 
good  graces  of  that  exclusive  old  Jacobite,  Lord  Forrest.  Ask  Kitty 
Nevile- Beauchamp  if  she  wouldn’t  give  a year  of  her  life  to  be  invited 
to  spend  one  hour  at  Forrest  House,  to  cheer  Lord  Forrest  in  one  of  his 
fits  of  depression.” 

“ Do  ) ou  mean  that  Koorali  is  staying  with  Lord  Forrest  ? ” gasped 
Crichton. 

Eustace  nodded  imperturbably. 

Crichton  found  his  breath  almost  taken  away.  If  he  had  not 
quarrelled  with  Koorali,  he,  too,  might  have  been  at  Forrest  House. 

“ Have  you  seen  her  ? ” he  asked  in  despair. 

Oh  dear,  no,”  replied  Eustace,  quite  truthfully,  for  he  had  not  then 


" THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE.' 


318 

seen  KoorMi ; “ and  I have  not  spoken  to  Lord  Forrest  either.  Zen 
heard  it  from  Arden.  I don’t  think  I’d  send  the  detectives  to  Forrest 
House.  Cnchron,  if  I were  you.  The  old  Jacobite  mightn’t  like  it.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Crichton,  and  his  brow  was  darkened,  and  Eustace  felt, 
as  he  dropped  his  eye-glass,  the  incident  being  over,  that  KoorMi’s 
wrongs  were  well-nigh  avenged. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

IN  THE  AUSTRALIAN  SUNSET. 

It  was  Koorali’s  last  day  in  London.  No  line  or  message  had  come 
from  Crichton.  As  a matter  of  fact,  he  had  gone  back  to  the  Grey 
Manor  to  be  present  at  a county  function ; and  moreover,  he  was  not 
particularly  anxious  to  be  seen  in  London  while  the  papers  were  still 
full  of  the  recent  disclosures  in  the  Piccadilly  Gazette , and  speculating 
as  to  their  source,  lie  was  in  a mood  of  sullen  wrath  against  Koorali ; 
but  he  had  all  the  instincts  of  a bully,  and  was  less  disposed  to  make 
hims  If  actively  disagreeable  now  that  she  was  under  the  protection  of 
powerful  f iends.  It  would  not  be  pleasant  to  have  any  passage  of 
arms  with  Lord  Forrest  and  his  son.  He  half  hated  aud  half  a inured 
Koorali  fur  taking  up  so  unassailable  a position.  He  did  not  for  a 
moment  believe  that  she  really  intended  to  give  up  England  and  the 
social  advantages  she  had  gained  for  the  monotonous,  uncongenial  sort 
of  life  she  must  lead  if  she  went  out  to  her  father.  Besides,  she  had  no 
money,  and  she  must  ere  long  be  “ starved  out,”  as  he  phrased  it. 
Crichton  had  a theory  that  everything  must,  sooner  or  later,  be  levelled 
down  to  the  pecuniary  basis.  He  did  not  suspect  his  brother  and  Zen. 
So  he  went  down  to  Lyndfordshire  in  a fairly  comfortable  frame  of 
mind,  and  was  the  guest  of  honour  at  a banquet  given  by  the  Liberals 
of  Lynd Chester,  where  he  was  presented  with  a silver  salver  in  recog- 
nition of  his  services  during  the  election,  and  a congratulatory  address 
on  his  new  appointment.  He  made  a pretty  little  speech,  with  several 
touching  allusions  in  it  to  his  wife,  and  contrived  to  make  it  generally 
known  that  Mrs.  Crichton  Kenway  was  staying  with  Lord  Forrest, 
and  that  with  Lord  Forrest  an  average  viscountess  ranked  little  higher 
than  the  wife  of  a provincial  mayor. 

But  Koorali  was  in  the  dark  as  to  his  movements  and  sentiments. 
When  Eustace  told  her  that  her  husband  was  aware  of  her  whereabouts, 
an  intense  terror  seized  her.  She  scarcely  dared  venture  beyond  her 
room.  She  longed  with  feverish  anxiety  for  the  hour  of  departure. 
She  implored  Lord  Arden  to  give  instructions  that  it  Crichton  presented 
himself  at  Forrest  House  he  should  be  denied  admission.  And  yet, 
amid  all  her  terror,  she  had  a vague,  trembling  hope — or  was  it  a 
deeper  dread? — that  he  would  write  some  word  of  kindness  which, 
though  it  could  alter  nothing  in  their  relations,  might  at  least  soften 
the  memory  of  their  last  terrible  interview.  Her  married  life  was 


IN  THE  AUSTRALIAN  SUNSET. 


319 

over.  That  had  been  said  and  done  which  was  irrevocable.  She  had 
made  her  soul  her  judge  and  its  own  defender.  No  conventional 
sophistries  would  ever  change  her  feeling  of  rebellion  against  the 
obligations  imposed  by  a marriage  such  as  hers — a union  which  was 
a very  outrage  on  nature,  a violation  of  things  sacred. 

But  this  man  whom  she  loathed  and  despised,  at  the  thought  of 
whose  kiss  her  flesh  quivered  in  repulsion,  was  the  father  of  her 
chili  Iren.  Her  woman’s  heart  writhed,  and  the  iron  in  her  melted. 
This  bond  was  a fact  as  definite  as  that  of  her  own  existence.  The 
yoke  might  be  borne  in  revolt  and  antij  athy,  but  it  could  not  be 
wholly  laid  aside  There  lay  the  cruel  problem,  the  wrong  not  to  be 
redressed  since  Nature  herself  inflicted  it. 

The  afternoon  was  grey  and  cold.  A fog  creeping  stealthily, 
enveloped  the  houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  square.  Koorali  was 
restless  and  excited.  The  world  seemed  slipping  from  her.  On  the 
morrow  she  would  be  on  the  sea,  and  everything  would  be  left  behind 
— her  children  only  saved ; gone  all  else.  She  thought  of  the  man  she 
loved,  and  for  whom  her  heart  ached  in  throbbing  pain.  And  yet 
it  bounded,  too,  with  something  of  elation.  A little  while  ago  she  had 
learned  from  Arden  that  the  investigations  taking  place  concerning 
the  death  of  Masterson  were  already  bringing  to  light  the  fact  that 
Morse  had  again  and  again  written  to  Masterson,  warning  1 im  against 
any  association  with  cosmopolitan  and  professional  revolutionists  from 
the  Continent,  and  especially  against  the  very  men  who  were  now 
beheved  to  have  been  in  the  actual  employment  of  England’s  foreign 
rival. 

Now  justice  would  be  done  to  him — now  that  the  rattle  of  the  war 
drum  was  sounding;  now  when  panic  and  passion  had  taken  another 
phase;  now  when  it  might  be  too  late  to  avert  the  disaster  he  had 
dreaded  for  his  country ; now  when  his  wile  had  left  him  and  his 
heart  was  desolate — now  he  might  step  on  in  his  career  and  serve 
England. 

A wild  impulse  came  over  Koorali — perhaps  one  heaven-born.  She 
had  heard  that  on  the  morrow,  Lady  Betty,  too,  was  going  away — 
leaving  London  with  her  father.  Did  this  mean  that  the  breach 
between  husband  and  wife  was  irreparable — that  Morse  must  be  always 
lonely,  that  he  also  must  lose  everything  ? She  knew  weli  that  his 
proud  spirit  would  not  stoop  to  conciliatory  overtures.  Oh,  that  she — 
Koorali — she  who  loved  him,  might  go  to  Lady  Betty,  and  plead  with 
her  as  woman  to  woman,  and  implore  her  to  return  to  her  husband 
and  give  him  her  trust ! Her  resolution  was  quickly  made.  She  touk 
her  courage  between  her  hands.  She  would  not  wait  to  reflect  and 
doubt  and  wonder  as  to  her  reception.  What  did  it  matter  if  Lady 
Betty  repulsed  her?  What  did  anything  matter  which  concerned 
herself  alone?  The  thought  of  those  two  other  lives  was  passionately 
present  with  her,  and  even  deadened  her  own  pain.  She  felt  a fervid 
craving  to  do  something — she  scarcely  knew  what — that  might  bring 
together  again  the  husband  and  wife  who  had  once  loved  each  other, 


320 


44  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 


The  very  hopelessness  of  her  own  marriage,  in  which  there  had  never 
been  any  sanctity,  made  the  pity  of  this  marred  marriage,  with  all  its 
elements  of  promise,  seem  the  greater.  The  look  in  Lady  Be  ty’s  e\  e$ 
when  they  had  met  in  the  Ladies’  Gallery,  haunted  her  like  a spectre  of 
her  own  guilt.  It  was  readily  conceivable  that  Lady  Betty  had 
guessed  the  state  of  Morse’s  feelings,  and  that  this  consciousness,  rather 
than  divergence  in  politics,  had  been  the  mainspring  of  her  refusal  to 
stand  by  him  in  his  trouble.  Koorali  shivered  in  shame  and  remors°, 
that  she  should  have  brought  pain  to  another  woman.  Her  generous 
heart  exaggerated  the  measure  of  blame,  and  found  justification  for 
Lady  Betty. 

With  trembling  hands  she  dressed  herself  in  her  outdoor  things  and 
»vent  downstairs,  where  she  asked  for  a cab.  It  was  not  a long  drive 
to  Lord  Germilion’s  house.  She  sat  quite  still  in  the  cab,  with  her 
hands  clasped  tightly  together.  She  was  buoyed  tip  and  stimulated 
by  a strange  excitement.  Lady  Betty  was  at  home,  but  it  was  not 
certain  if  she  would  receive  a visitor.  Koorali  wrote  a line  on  her 
card,  “ I am  going  away  to-morrow.  May  I not  see  you  to  say  good- 
bye?” After  a little  while  the  man  came  back,  and  she  was  taken  to 
a small  room  where  Lady  Betty  sat  before  the  fire  alone.  As  Koorali 
entered,  she  rose,  and  the  two  women  smod  facing  each  other;  both 
small  and  slender  and  young-looking — Koorali,  in  her  long  winter 
cloak,  her  hands  still  nervously  pressing  each  other,  her  face  very  pale, 
with  an  awed  expression  upon  it,  and  her  lips  trembling;  Lady  Betty 
the  more  composed  of  the  two  in  manner,  but  with  a burning  spot  on 
each  cheek,  and  a light,  half  resentful,  half  wondering,  in  her  eyes. 
The  emotion  she  was  trying  to  conceal  prevented  the  sLns  of  trouble 
and  anxiety  which  her  face  showed  from  being  too  noticeable.  Never- 
theless, Koorali  knew  by  instinct  that  Lady  Betty  had  wept  much 
and  slept  little  during  the  past  few  days  and  nights. 

Lady  Betty  received  her  visitor  with  conventional,  almost  too 
marked,  politeness.  She  had  the  formal  phrases  ready.  She  offered 
te  >,  and  drew  forward  a chair.  There  was  a strained,  false  note  in 
Lady  Betty’s  voice  that  deepened  Koorali’s  sense  of  misery  and  help- 
lessness. Involuntarily  she  undid  her  cloak  and  veil,  with  the  instinct 
that  makes  for  breaking  down  barriers.  A wall  of  ice  seemed  raised 
between  herself  and  Lady  Betty.  And  yet  Lady  Betty  was  smiling 
in  her  pretty,  well-bred  way,  and  asking  easy  questions,  as  though 
she  had  no  part  in  the  tragedy  to  which  Koorali  was  so  keenly 
alive. 

“ I had  no  idea  you  were  going  away  so  soon,  Mrs.  Kenway,”  Lady 
Betty  said.  “It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  bid  me  good-bye ; 
but  I dare  say  that  you  will  be  tired  of  Farnesia  before  next  season, 
and  Mr.  Kenway  will  get  leave  of  absence.  His  friends  mustn’t  let 
Lord  Coulmont  forget  him.  But  you  and  he  are  not  likely  to  be  for- 
gotten, even  if,  as  the  papers  seem  to  say  to-day,  there  is  a great  war 
to  distract  our  thoughts.” 

KoonUi  did  not  answer.  Something  seemed  to  be  choking  her. 


IN  THE  AUSTRALIAN  SUNSET 


321 


Lady  Betty  had  seen  the  papers  then.  A dumb  indignation  possessed 
Koorali.  Had  this  woman  been  great-souled,  she  would  not  play  at 
unconsciousness.  Lady  Betty  went  on  with  forced  ease. 

“ I am  almost  inclined  to  envy  you  when  I think  of  the  climate  of 
Farnesia.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  find  one’s-self  in  a sunshiny  land 
just  now.  My  father  is  trying  to  persuade  me  to  go  with  him  to  Nice. 
He  always  takes  flight  with  the  swallows,  you  know,  and  he  is  later 
than  usual  this  year.  There  has  been  so  much  happening — I mean, 

the  uncertainty  about  the  war ” 

Lady  Betty  paused,  and  gave  a quick  little  sigh.  Her  face  changed, 
and  then  became  hard  again.  There  was  a moment’s  silence.  Koo- 
rali made  an  abrupt  movement,  bending  forward  and  lifting  her  hand, 
as  if  she  would  sweep  away  flimsy  pretences.  Her  sad  eyes  met  Lady 
Betty’s  in  a piercing  earnestness  that  seemed  to  aim  straight  through 
the  proud  reserve  in  which  Lady  Betty  had  wrapped  herself. 

“ Oh,  Lady  Hetty ! ” she  exclaimed  with  tremulous  fervour.  “ You 
will  not  leave  England — and  your  husband  who  needs  you — not  now ; 
not  at  such  a time.  Oh,  do  not  be  angry  with  me.  I shall  never  see 
you  again,  perhaps,  and  I must  speak  what  is  in  my  heart.  I do  not 
care  about  myself.  What  does  it  matter?  But  I know  how  hard 
trouble  is  to  bear ; and  when  it  has  come  partly  through  one’s  own 
act  — through  a mistake.  And  then  to  see  trouble  and  division  betw  een 
those  who  have  loved  each  other — and  who — People  for  whom  one 
cares,  whom  one  admires  and  honours ; and  not  to  try  and  help,  even 
when  it  seems  presumption ” 

Kuorali’s  words  came  brokenly.  She  had  lost  sight  of  everything 
but  the  need,  pressing  more  and  more  imperiously  upon  her,  to  turn 
the  suffering  outside  herself  into  a corrective  of  her  own  pain,  and  to 
merge  the  sense  of  personal  loss  into  sympathy  for  another’s  loss  and 
suffering.  She  rose  in  her  agitation. 

Lady  Betty,  still  seated,  cast  a swift,  long  look  at  her — a look  in 
which  doubt,  resentment,  and  some  softer,  nobler  emotion  struggled. 
“ You  speak  of  my  husband  and  of  me  V ” she  said  in  darting  accents 
that  stun-i  Koorali  like  the  blows  of  a lash.  “ Who  has  told  you  that 
there  is  division  between  us?  W7as  it  he  who  told  you?” 

She  got  up  and  stood  before  Koorali.  All  her  calmness,  her  affec- 
tation of  indifference,  had  gone.  She  was  more  deeply  moved  than 
Koorali  herself.  Her  breast  heaved.  The  passion  and  jealous  anger 
flamed  forth  in  her  eyes.  Their  steady  gaze  was  scorching. 

“ Who  told  you?”  she  repeated.  “Was  it  my  husband  who  went 
to  you  and  told  you  that  I had  left  him  to  stand  alone?” 

The  blood  leaped  up  and  suffused  Koorali’s  face,  dying  down  again 
almost  as  quickly.  This  was  the  moment  of  which  she  had  had  the 
secret  dread  present  with  her  all  through  her  rash  impulse.  If  Lady 
Betty  accused  her!  She  felt  like  one  guilty,  arraigned  before  her 
victim.  There  was  silence  for  a minute  between  the  two  women. 
Koorali’s  paleness  had  become  deathlike.  She  stood  quite  speechless 
and  still.  She  would  have  given  her  life  at  that  moment  to  be  able  to 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE: 


*22 

answer  that  she  had  not  seen  Morse.  But  she  would  tell  no  lies.  She 
had  left  deceit  for  ever  behind  her,  and  so  she  remained  dumb. 

Koorah’s  strange  quietude,  her  pallor,  an  unconscious  dignity  and 
pathos  which  her  face  wore  in  all  its  bird  misery,  impressed  Lady 
Betty  as  no  words  could  have  done.  Koorali’s  aspect  was  a rebuke  for 
her  own  want  of  self-contruL  She  had  betrayed  herself.  She  had 
shown  that  she  was  jealous.  A moment  more,  and  she  mi  :ht  have 
spoken  words  beStting  a woman  in  a melodrama.  What  was  the  use 
of  pride  and  reserve  now  V She  had  put  herself  into  a false  positi  -n. 
She,  Lady  Betty,  who  had  always  piqued  herself  upon  her  ready  tact 
and  her  capacity  for  avoiding  scenes. 

She  hated  Koorali  then.  Her  beautiful  palace  of  life  seemed  in 
ruins.  She  had  the  feeling  that  through  this  woman  it  had  been 
shattered,  and  she  was  awakening  to  find  herself  in  a world  of  new 
experiences,  where  her  poor  little  individuality  shrivelled  into  nothing- 
ness, and  where  everything  was  harsh  and  crude.  And,  amid  all  that 
was  bewildering,  she  had  a vague  perception  of  something  in  Koorali — 
some  touch  of  nobility  which  she  had  never  possessed. 

Her  nature  was  shaken  to  the  core.  She  had  lost  all  her  bearings. 
Her  cheeks  reddened  now.  Passionate  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and 
her  lips  quivered  like  those  of  a grief-stricken  child.  Sh  * turned 
away  witu  a half-hysterical  sob,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the  high 
mantel-piece. 

Koorali  came  a little  nearer  to  her.  She  put  out  her  hands  in  a 
generous,  tender  impulse,  and  then  let  them  fall  again.  Her  heart 
yearned  compassionately  towards  the  woman  who  was  Morse’s  wife, 
and  who  was  so  frail  a thing.  But  she  dared  not  touch  Lady  Betty’s 
hand  yet.  Her  emotion  forced  itself  into  her  voice  and  into  the  words 
she  began  to  speak,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  said,  full  only  of  the 
overmastering  desire  to  give  back  to  Morse  something  of  what  he  had 
lost. 

“ I knew  that  you  were  with  Lord  Germilion,  and  not  in  your  own 
house;  and  Lord  Forrest  told  me  that  you  were  leaving  London.  I 
came — it  seemed  so  terrible  that  Mr.  Morse  should  be  alone — now,  and 
that  you  should  doubt  or  misunderstand  him.  It  could  not  be  more 
than  a misunderstanding.  He  is  so  good,  so  noble.  And  his  wi  e — 
oh,  to  lose  the  trust  and  love  of  one  whom  we  love  and  to  whom  we 
are  bound — ” a sob  checked  Kooiali’s  utterance.  She  could  only 
seize  her  thoughts  brokenly.  “ Nothing  could  be  so  bad  as  that — to 
lose  all  we  cared  for  most  through  a mistake.  And  then  to  feel, 
afterwards,  that  we  had  been  mistaken,  and  had  judged  wrongly  ; and 
to  know  that  but  for  that,  others  whom  we  loved  might  have  been 
happier.” 

Lady  Betty  turned  a little.  Koorali,  watching  her  every  movement 
with  intense  anxiety,  fancied  that  a slightly  changed  expression  had 
crept  over  her  partly  averted  face ; but  she  did  not  speak. 

Koorali  went  on,  her  voice  vibrating  with  increasing  agitation.  “ J 
know*— I know  what  the  misery  is  of  a mistake  in  one’s  marriage — a 


IN  THE  AUSTRALIAN  SUNSET . 


322 


mistake  from  the  beginning,  when  it  was  all  done  in  blindness,  and 
there  was  never  any  love  or  any  trust.  And  to  think  the  love  should 
have  been  there  at  first,  and  the  happiness,  as  in  your  marriage,  and 
should  be  in  danger  now!  Oh,  it’s  like  watching  some  one  drown, 
and  not  putting  out  a hand.  I couldn’t — I couldn’t  go  away — for  ever, 
perhaps — and  not  come  and  speak.” 

Koorali  waited  a moment;  but  still  Lady  Betty  said  nothing.  Sho 
only  looked  up,  and  her  eyes,  full  of  tears,  met  Koorali’s  < yes,  wet 
too,  in  a wistful,  pathetic  glance.  Then  she  drooped  her  head  agam. 
KooiAli  put  out  her  hand  with  a timid  gesture,  and  Lady  Betty’s 
closed  upon  it.  Koorali  spoke  on — 

“I  may  never  see  you  or  Mr.  Morse  any  more.  I’m  going  to 
Australia  to-morrow — back  to  my  father — l and  my  boys.  I shall 
never  come  to  England  to  lead  the  same  life  again.  That’s  all  ended. 
I’ve  got  nothing  now  but  my  children,  and  I want  nothing  else.  I am 
not  going  to  Farnesia  with  my  husband.  I’m  leaving  mv  husband 
because — ” she  faltered — “ because  our  marriage  was  not  like  yours. 
"We  never  loved  each  other.  He  wishes  me  to  go.  He  has  done  what 
is  base.  I will  not  have  my  children  grow  up  to  be  like  him.  I will 
not  live  a life  of  falsehood.  But  you — it  is  all  different  with  you.  I 
don’t  care  about  myself.  I’m  doing  what  I know  to  be  the  onlv  thing 
I can  or  ought  to  do;  and  that  is  the  end  of  it  all.  I’m  thinking  of 
you  and  of  your  husband.  Your  place  is  by  his  side — oh  yes,  yes, 
Lady  Betty.  He  must  have  suffered  so  much  since  that  day  in  the 
House.  rlhe  world  is  doing  him  justice  now,  and  you  will  do  him 
justice,  too?” 

Koorali  broke  down  completely.  The  effort  had  been  too  great. 
She  sobbed  unrestrainedly.  Involuntarily  Lady  Betty  made  a move- 
ment towards  her,  and  the  two  women  clung  to  each  other  for  a 
minute,  and  kissed  with  a certain  solemnity  that  was  in  itself  a pledge. 
Koorali  knew  now  that  she  had  conquered.  There  was  no  need  for 
words.  In  such  moments  of  crisis  women’s  hearts  speak.  They  were 
both  weeping.  Presently  Lady  Betty  gently  disengaged  herself. 

“ He  would  think — if  I wrote  to  him  now,”  she  said  in  a childlike 
way  between  her  sobs,  “he  would  think  it  was  only  because  people 
thought  well  of  him  again.  He  would  not  know  that  I — ” she 
hesitated,  and  the  colour  deepened  in  her  face — “that  I did  not  stand 

by  him  because ” She  stopped  altogether  now,  and  instinctively 

drew  back  a little. 

“Oh,  tell  him  that  you  love  him,”  said  Koorali  in  stifled  tones  of 
agony.  It  was  the  last  effort  of  renunciation.  She  felt  her  strength 
going.  “ You  are  his  wife.  He  is  too  generous  to  ask  for  more  than 
that.  What  does  anything  matter  if  there  is  love?  ” 

She  could  bear  no  more.  A feeling  of  dizziness  crept  over  her  for 
a minute.  She  put  out  her  hands  blindly.  “Good-bye,”  she  said. 
Lady  Betty  took  them  in  both  hers.  Koorkli  heard  her  voice  as  if 
it  were  a voice  in  a dream. 

“ I know  that  you  are  a good  woman,”  Lady  Betty  said.  “ Good- 


324 


“THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE! 


bye ; I shall  never  forget  yon.  I thank  you  for  coming  here  to-day. 

1 hope  you  may  be  happy  with  your  children.” 

There  was  an  accent  of  tenderness  and  of  sadness  in  the  last  words. 
They  conveyed  to  Koorali — her  sensitive  nerves  strung  to  keen  respon- 
siveness— that  she  had  one  blessing  which  Lady  Betty  did  not  possess. 
She  had  h r children.  They  kissed  each  other  again  silently  ; and 
then  Koorali  went  away. 

That  night  Lady  Betty  wrote  to  her  husband  a letter  full  of  simple, 
sweet  penitence,  making  no  excuse,  but  only  asking  to  be  forgiven. 
To  do  her  justice,  she  had  only  allowed  herself  to  be  overcome  by  her 
father  at  a moment  when  she  was  under  the  influence  of  a strain  upon 
her  feelings  which  was  already  dragging  her  too  far  away  irom  the 
even  conuitions  of  her  life.  In  truth,  she  was  longing  to  get  back  to 
her  husband. 

And  Morse  forgave  her,  knowing  that  he,  too,  needed  forgiveness. 
She  returned  to  her  home,  and  very  few  knew  anything  about  her 
ever  having  left  it.  Those  few  who  did  know  or  did  guess  were  only 
too  anxious  to  forget.  Morse  and  she  will  live  together — together  and 
yet  apart.  Together  and  apart?  Is  not  that  the  condition  of  many 
a marriage  which  yet  the  world  calls  well-made  and  happy?  And 
Morse  gu«s  back  to  his  world  of  men.  He  has  ordered  his  heart  to 
bear  stoutly  what  has  to  be  borne  somehow.  He  does  not  forget ; does 
not  ieel  hound  to  forget.  Sometimes  perhaps  Lady  Betty  finds  in  his 
mannt  r to  her  an  especial  tenderness,  a melancholy  protecting  sweet- 
ness which  she  has  hardly  known  before,  and  which  at  once  pleases 
and  puzzles  her.  Is  it  a paradox  to  say  that  his  pure  strong  love  for 
Koorali,  whom  he  is  never  to  see  again,  makes  him  more  gentle  than 
ever  to  his  wife;  more  anxious  to  do  her  justice,  to  shelter  her,  to  love 
her?  No;  it  is  no  paradox — only  the  truth,  the  mere  truth;  and  so 
— hallo  1 

**»**«« 

The  steamer  in  which  Koorali  and  her  children  had  sailed  was 
within  the  Great  Barrier  Reef.  For  several  days  the  Australian  coast 
had  been  in  view,  and  all  day  and  late  into  the  night  Koorali  had  sat 
on  deck  watching  ihe  distant  outlines  of  her  native  land. 

And  now  the  (Jape  of  Muttabarra  and  the  lighthouse  were  in  sight. 
Koorali  was  at  the  bulwarks  with  her  boys  beside  her.  She  pointed 
out  her  old  home  to  them  with  steady  hand,  ami  her  voice  did  not 
falter  as  she  told  them  how  she  had  never  been  there  since  when  little 
more  than  a child  herself  she  had  put  forth  in  the  pi  lot- boat  to  see  the 
world.  She  explained  to  them  the  different  routes  to  England,  and 
how  she  and  their  father  had  gene  by  way  of  the  south ; and  then  she 
described  the  life  on  the  station  and  the  pilots.  They  speculated  on 
the  changes  that  might  have  occurred ; and  they  wondered  if  Grand- 
father would  be  in  the  boat  that  was  to  take  them  off,  and  whether 
they  would  live  altogether  at  Muttabarra,  or  if  a change  of  Government 
wouid  bring  a Middlemist  Ministry  in  again 


IN  THE  A USTRAL1 AN  SUNSET. 


325 


Koorkli  often  talked  in  this  way  to  her  boys.  It  was  thus  she 
schooled  herself  to  face  the  new  liie  and  to  look  calmly  back  upon  the 
old.  Yet,  though  there  was  no  falter  in  her  voice  as  sin-  answered 
their  questions  and  replied  to  the  captain  when  he  came  to  tell  her 
that  they  were  about  to  signal  the  lighthouse,  her  smile  and  tone 
suggested  the  “cea^ehss  anguish  of  paiience,”  the  endurance  of  a 
sufferer  in  whom  pain  has  passed  its  worst.  She  had  wept  so  many 
tears  that  now  the  fountains  of  sorrow  seemed  to  have  run  dry.  Her 
life  was  broken,  as  she  had  said.  It  was  as  though  she  had  touched 
death — the  death  of  soul  and  affection — and  had  been  allowed  to  live 
on,  but  was  sent  back  to  the  world  all  chill  and  numbed.  This 
could  not  always  be  so.  Doubtless,  after  years,  the  severed  flesh 
would  join,  and  peace,  perhaps  even  a kind  of  happiness,  would  be 
hers.  Kenewal  is  in  the  laws  of  Nature  as  well  as  change.  The  most 
limited  future  is  full  of  possibilities,  and  God,  when  He  withholds  for  a 
time,  may  generously  add  to  a late-given  gift  the  rich  sense  of  duty 
fulfilled,  or  joy  foregone  for  the  sake  of  right.  But  to  Koorali  now  all 
was  dark  ; no  speck  of  light  yet  showed  her  the  way  out  of  the  cavern 
of  gloom  and  death. 

The  children  left  her,  attracted  by  the  hoisting  of  the  flag,  and  she 
sat  alone  watching  the  familiar  headland  as  it  rose  nearer  and  larger. 
She  thought  of  that  morning  when  in  the  brightness  of  dawn  she  had 
hidden  it  farewell.  She  could  see  in  fancy  the  vanishing  boat.  She 
could  see  herself,  the  slim,  bareheaded  girl,  so  light-hearted,  so  full  of 
hope  and  trust  that  it  was  pitiful  to  think  of  her  now.  The  old 
phrase  came  back  to  her;  the  mimic  title.  Poor  Little  Queen!  She 
had  gone  forth  so  gaily  to  take  possession  of  her  kingdom  of  happiness, 
and  she  had  found,  as  many  another  sad  woman  has  found,  only  a 
kingdom  of  sorrow. 

Yet  some  good  had  come  to  her.  She  had  seen  a joy,  although  it 
was  unattainable  for  her.  Love  had  shone  upon  her  as  bright,  though 
as  far  off,  as  light  from  a star.  After  all,  is  it  not  the  greatest  good — 
to  gain  the  knowledge  of  love  as  an  eternal  reality,  to  be  allowed  to 
bear  with  one,  as  a possession  for  ever,  one’s  ideal,  an  ideal  which  age 
cannot  wither  nor  time  disfigure  nor  life’s  storms  wear  away  ? 

The  summer  day  was  closing  in.  All  round,  the  sea  lay  still,  and 
the  red  sunset  was  upon  ocean  and  land.  The  steamer  had  slackened 
speed.  Now  the  boys  flew  back  to  their  mother’s  side.  Koorali  took 
little  Miles  in  her  arms,  and  Lance  raised  himself  on  a bench,  holding 
for  support  to  her  shoulder.  A boat  had  put  forth  from  the  cape. 
Koorali  stood  with  her  children  clinging  to  her,  and  the  light  of  th8 
Australian  sunset  round  her  head. 


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